After reading this again, I sound like I'm sneering snootily at this neighbor. I don't know how to fix that, but really I'm feeling warm affection for him, because he's obviously good at heart. I just find his choice of words... odd and endearing, as Monkey said. I love characters, as this guy certainly is. And I love the fact he's different in a neighborhood of crushing sameness. So, please, read this post with the realization that I'm celebrating him, not making fun of him.

Original post:

Last night, my super-secret Santa mission included my brother-in-law. I travelled to his home, a townhouse in an upper-middle-class Chicago suburb, to help him with ... sorry, I can't say.

While we travelled to the undisclosed location for undisclosed purposes for an undisclosed person, he complained to me about his white trash neighbor.

Now, I have nothing against this neighbor, since his butt-ugly white van with the mismatched doors and his tie-dyed curtains are the only landmarks to indicate which otherwise identical, tasteful townhome belongs to Towel Boy.

But then, I'm not awakened at 6 a.m. by a hillbilly bellowing for his dogs. Said beasts were roaming free when I arrived at my brother-in-laws home last night, as a matter of fact.



So Towel Boy told me about pounding on his redneck neighbor's door in his robe and pajamas to inform him, loudly and angrily, that he had once again roused the entire neighborhood calling for his free-range poochies. The neighbor apologized, saying he didn't realize anyone could hear him, because "It was winter."

Later that day, when Towel Boy came home from work, he found this note on his door:



I especially like the P.S.