Scary children strike again.

I got heckled by the scary neighborhood children just now.  I was walking into our little apartment complex, coming home from work, not bothering anyone.  I might have been whistling.  I’m wearing red corduroys.  I knew that there were a few kids about fifteen feet behind me—a 13-14 year old-ish girl and maybe two younger boys. 

“Hey, SEXY LADY.”

As I was the only sexy lady around, I figured they were yelling at me.  But I ignored them.

“HEY.  SEXY LADY.”

Ignore.

“SEXY LADY. [insert rude comments in British that were difficult for me to understand]”

I thought about turning around, acting really tall and tough, and being like, “HEY WHAT” in an intimidating way.  But I’m usually not the kind of person who can convincingly pull off that kind of behavior.  And those London youths are definitely tougher and scarier than I am.  I know it.  They know it.  I'd be willing to wager we had some junior representatives of our neighborhood in the August riots.  So I calmly walked into the stairwell and as soon as they couldn’t see me, I ran as fast as I could.  I am now safe in my apartment (which I think finally has heat!).

I have friends in America.

We got a little Neighbourhood Safety Team notice in the mail today.  It says “there has recently been a slight rise in Burglary, Theft, and Anti-Social behaviour” on our street.  We are supposed to contact The Team if we have any concerns or if we “witness any Anti-Social Behaviour.”  I mean, sure, this is a little disturbing (almost as disturbing as The Team's excessive capitalization), but I’m probably more worried about getting reported for Anti-Social Behaviour than about getting burglarized.  Don’t report me, neighbors!  I can’t help being Anti-Social—I have no friends here.  (Pity party happening right now, wish you guys could join.) 

(PS.  While Ashley and I can probably take the blame for the neighbourhood's rise in Anti-Social Behaviour, I'd put money down that the terrifying children are responsible for the Burglary and Theft. Especially after I heard our neighbor-lady say/scream to one of the kids, "Where'd you get that money??")

My hips don't lie.

And they are telling me that I am an old lady.  The other day I went for a very nice run, and afterwards, it was time to stretch.  I usually stretch in the empty parking spots of our little apartment complex, but the scary neighborhood children were playing violent games there, so I decided to stretch across the street (that wording makes me picture Gumby or Elastigirl...I’m gonna leave it) and keep them at a safe distance.  I swung my leg up on this post and felt something shift in my hip.  Bad news.  My dad has had both of his hips replaced and I’m anticipating a similar outcome for my poor hips.  In the meantime, I hobble.  Major pain in the hip. 

…Shakira, Shakira.

Meet our neighbors.

Screaming match happening outside right now.  Our neighbor-lady—age late 30s-ish, as a rule, only yells (normal voice volume simply will not do) (also bear in mind that her Cockney accent is so strong that it took me about a week to realize her yelling was in English)—versus about 5 small children, average age approximately 8. 

“WHO THE FUCK BUSTED UP MY SON’S LEG?  THE NEXT KID THAT FUCKING TOUCHES MY FUCKING KID, I’M GOING TO PUNCH IN THE FUCKING MOUTH.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, LADY!”

“DO NOT YELL BACK AT ME.  OR YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR MOTHER, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR MOTHER, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR MOTHER—AND YOU DEFINITELY DON’T WANT TO DEAL WITH HER.”

Another lovely evening in the neighborhood.

I am disturbed.

Three of our lovely neighborhood children (boys' estimated ages 7 and 8, girl's 11) are outside my window right now, singing the Shaggy song "It Wasn't Me."  Incredibly, incredibly accurate with the lyrics.  And I guess a chubby kid must have walked by, because one of the singing boys just yelled, "Hey!  Come back when you lose some weight, you fat shit!"  ......  Perhaps this will give you a small insight into why I am afraid of the children that live here.