Dear Inconsiderate Neighbour,
I just wanted to drop you a note to thank you for waking me at 1:00 o’clock Sunday morning by shovelling your driveway. It made getting up really early to head to church exceptionally pleasant. This seems to be your favourite time for this winter activity – I remember from last year…
In case you hadn’t noticed, nearly every window in every house on the block was dark at that time. That’s because we were asleep. I’m not sure if your wife (or daughter – I wasn’t wearing my glasses) sitting in your front window, noticed me gesturing to you by pointing to the imaginary watch on my forearm and waving my arms in the air in my agitated state. That’s why I took the additional step of turning on my bedroom light and standing prominently in the middle of the window. I apologize if she waved and I didn’t wave back.
Perhaps next weekend you could kindly look out the window from time to time during the day. You see, this past weekend you failed to notice that it had been snowing all day and you could have shovelled earlier (like many of the folks on the street). In fact, you could have shoveled and scraped your way down to the bare pavement several times throughout the day (like we did) and gained a real sense of achievement. I realize that by 1:00 a.m., there was quite a bit of snow on your driveway. I guess you didn’t noticed, it was still snowing, so all your attempts to scrape the last three snowflakes off your driveway were rather pointless, as well as noisy.
I also wanted to express my deep appreciation for the way you bellowed orders at your wife/daughter (or were you just carrying on a conversation through the glass window). It really encouraged your neighbour’s yappy dog to join in. I think the dog’s sharper voice carried better – your voice was more like the muffled teacher on Charlie Brown specials, only deeper. Though my ear was straining, I couldn’t quite make out the words.
We haven’t been properly introduced – we met only that one time I came over to ask you if you had a permit to butcher trim the tree in your front yard, saving you both a fine and an unfortunate death [you were standing on the top step of a ladder that says “this is not a step” and sawing with a saw tied to a broom handle with string]). I was seriously contemplating coming over to do so, by 1:20 a.m. when you were still scraping snowflakes off the bare pavement, but at the time I was worried that you would misinterpret my death threat groggy ramblings and destroy any hope of becoming friends.
I trust this letter finds you well and I look forward to a peaceful sleep next Sunday morning.