behind the closed doors.

Not everything is as it seems, or how it should be.

Behind closed doors that is.

Behind the fancy cars and model family life, the good friendly neighbours who bake cookies and seem to appear to have it all to the outside world. There is something else, something going on that never in a million years would you have guess.

The all American dream is hard to live up too, as I will tell you.

Ive seen it all from my window, were I watch. I live just at the end of the close and they all have to drive their fancy cars past my house to get out of the suburban paradise. I don’t sleep much either, so I like to sit and watch. Nosey neighbour you might say, but at my age what else can I do. After my bridge games are over its what I like to do best. Watch the young, see what they get up too, they think I don’t know, but I can read the signals, quietly they go, but they are there. At 96 yrs of age I have come to read them well.

The Youngs at number 102, ideal looking family. He works hard all day that man. Teaching those good for nothing youngsters how to live their lives, when all the while he should be out keeping an aye on his wife. Who while he is at work all day, paying for their fancy up keep no doubt. She’s busy making a living as a high class call girl. Ive seen her come and go, and on the odd occasion she would bring the fellow home with her. She’d be looking so flash as she pulls up on the driveway, just passing my house first in her fancy BMW. I’d make a quick bee line for the front porch and I’d wave at her thinking ‘right honey, who you gona say it is this time then?’

And she would wave and shout ‘I’m just showing the repair man our pool, Mrs B. I will call and see you later’ and I would smile and just wave back. To find later on that afternoon that their son, who at 7 years old would come by with some cookies ‘that my mommy baked today’. So innocent he is too, as he tells me far more about his life at home than his mother would care for.

Then there is the Reynolds, not long ago moved into the area, and at first I couldn’t figure out what it was about them. For a minute I thought that maybe they were the real deal.

Until one day he nearly slipped up, Jack Reynolds that is. They had moved from Oregon as Jack aint always been a Jack. I believe from what I read in the libarys newspaper resources that he lost his job over a affair some years ago with another man, but that was before he had the change over, And then meeting His now wife he moved far out this way to escape the small town taunts and jeers.

Then there’s the big TV personalities, oh how they do give me so much to think about and pass the time away. I turn on the local news and see his face reading the daily press to me and all that would watch that channels rubbish. He drinks Vodka like there is no tomorrow. They think that no-one knows that they don’t really go through that many bottles of 7up and diet soda’s of an evening. I know because the recycle guy that collects the refuse tells me it aint just soda that’s been in those bottles granny. As he likes to call me over coffee and my chocolate cake, in the sun room every Tuesday afternoon. He needs to loose a few pounds himself but I got to keep him sweet somehow.

His wife who was the weather girl but suddenly got promoted and now co-hosts a daytime TV talk show, you know the kind. Like Oprah, but not as many big named faces on the show. I know she has a problem with her weight, one of them there bulimics or rexic’s I think you call them. I send over her some of my cake now and again, and know that she’s eaten it before her drunk of a husband has even got home.

I’ve asked him once or twice and he’s never had a slice yet. The she’s out doing them exercises for all and sundry to see on the front lawn. Think I read that it all goes down the pan. What a waste of good food too.

Then there’s that couple on the end, who every now and then sell off something from there house. The men come along in their big white van and take away that huge TV screen, looks more like the big screen and should imagine that it kinda hurts your eyes watching that in your living room. But her husband has a problem playing those machines. Gambling. He plays away all their money and then they got to work twice as hard to replace everything to keep up this charade.

Living the all American way.

So I bet your wondering what’s the story with me then. Old lady, busy body like me living in a huge house like this on my own at the age of 96. Well that’s another story for someone else to tell.

The End

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