We have gone through the season where the bluejays mated racously under the open window; the one where the babiest ducklings get separated from their mother and "hide" in the roses beneath my bedroom window peeping wildly like tin whistles on crack; the evening chorus of the world's most high pitched insects (dental drill crickets I call them, and they make my sinuses throb); and, of course, the sounds of five or six drakes "romancing" a duck, with attendant love screaming, which happens at all hours and seasons. If any of you have to hear your neighbor's sex lives through the wall - believe me, they have nothing on duck rape. It is even more strident than the neighbor-noise in our first apartment, which always ended with "Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie" followed by what sounded to us like a lion with a guitar rollerskating to the bathroom.
October is a relatively quiet time for this aspect of nature, especially if you have managed to sleep in. So I was not really prepared for mechanical spring.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ah, the mating call of Stringtrimmer the weed whacker. zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Jim leaped up and closed the window.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz called the not to be thwarted trimmer, moving closer to try and make up for the silencing.
ahooooooooo ahoooooooooo answered the vacuum from the apartment above, plaintive, yearing. Oh, Stringtrimmer, where the hell art thou? ahoooooooooooooooooooooooo.
As I got up, I could hear the poor dumped lover Lawnmower hiccoughing in the distance.
This is not the movie I ordered.