There's a man, in his late thirties I estimate, who may be the most obnoxious, irritating man on earth--at least on my earth. He lives in my complex and has a son who visists on weekends. That he is divorced doesn't surprise me; that he was ever married, that anyone ever liked him long enough to procreate with him shocks me. He is the reason I decided--early in the summer--not to bother to try to relax by the pool on weekends.
But Labor Day weekend is the last weekend my pool is open, and it seemed like I should go out, as I do every year, at least for a little while, one last time.
As luck would have it, the uber-d**che, whose name I don't know but whose kid's name I do because was he shouts at least once a minute in an empty threat, was there.That is to say, I didn't get to relax...at all. He gave new meaning to LABOR DAY, because it felt like work not to turn around and tell him exactly what I think of him. As much as he's an a**wipe, I didn't feel it was fair for his son to be subjected to a rant about his father that would no doubt be replete with expletives.
So I didn't stay long, needless to say, but I did walk away with a greater appreciation of summer vacation and all those days I was out at the pool by myself, maybe for just an hour or two--alone with my Kindle, a book, my journal--surrounded only by peace and quiet....
And that's how I'd rather end summer: grateful for what was good.