stereotypical single woman

Last night I was out in my front yard working in my garden, which oddly enough I find very relaxing. I’m on my hands and knees in the dirt, weeding the tomatoes, when I hear “Where did you get those big ones there?”

I turn around and see the woman who lives across the street standing in my garden.

No hello, no sorry for sneaking up on you, no explanation of what “big ones” she was talking about (My first though was maybe my ass? that’s from the Finnegan side of the family, but if you’re talking the nose or the boobs it from the Yurisich and/or Pitsch genes)

It turns out she was asking about the Dutchman and Lemon Boy tomato plants I have that are already about three feet tall - thankfully. I really didn’t want to go into my family tree with her. Anyway, with her conversations really don’t involve much more than being within a six foot radius of her and pretending to look interested.

She’s one of those people who has an opinion about everyone and watches everything that happens on the street - nothing gets past her. She’s not too fond of any of the neighbors and feels it her duty to keep me up to date on who is mowing their yards, who lets their kids run around the neighborhood without supervision, who doesn’t pick up after their dogs, etc… She also hates my landlord and thinks he’s creepy (the first day I moved in she asked if I’d checked to see if there were cameras hidden anywhere in the house.) Last night the “conversation” was about the drama unfolding around the neighbors two doors down from me and their eleven (yes, 11) children - apparently they are getting a divorce and things are turning nasty. Oh, and she thinks the guy two doors down from her might be gay, but she’s not sure. After about twenty minutes she’s starting to wind down, but before she left she just wanted me to know she feels like she needs to keep an eye on me and the house - what with me being a single woman living alone. After all she has a daughter who is about my age, so she just feels like she needs to watch out for me. I thanked her (what else could I do? Tell the neighborhood busybody to leave me the hell alone?) and asked how old her daughter was. Apparently she turned 23 last month. That comment right there made up for me even thinking she said I had a big ass.