Our next door neighbors christened (so to speak) their new backyard patio with a smallish crowd of guests. It may have also been a kick-off to Labor Day weekend. We don't know; we weren't invited but due to the proximity of our houses (72 in. between our walls) you could say we were there anyhow.
Richie who is as nosy as any old lady at her window overlooking the street, walked out on to our balcony (width of house, narrow with redwood lattice fencing (including the patio ends for privacy) and reported back. Young Gen X-ers milling around their yard. They seemed benign.
Fine with me, live it up, go crazy. Just turn it all off no later than 9:30 p.m. please.
The noise grew, piquing even my curiosity so I sidled out to look down and check out the action.
My gaze fell on the newly-installed red or grey pavers and I thought "That looks nice" and then a couple of people moved and I saw It. Terror flooded my heart. I very nearly gasped, but didn't want to give away my embarrassing position - that of neighborhood spy.
What did I see that affected me so much? A long folding table with a neat row of red go cups and a keg of beer. The dreaded, feared, guaranteed noise maker all set up to go? Beer Pong.
I came back in to the living room, leaning on the doorway for support and said, "Richie - brace yourself! I've got two words for you - beer pong!" Was he frightened? Did the newspaper he was holding start to flutter like a debutante with her first fan? No. He laughed.
His response calmed me and after a moment's thought, I asked, "Wanna start book on what time we hear the first vomiting?" He declined.
In fairness to the party goers, other than waves of loud, hysterical laughter periodically, they were quiet enough (I suspect the food was being served) and they all went into the house around 10 p.m. and nothing more was heard from them.
This morning, Richie stepped out on the balcony and looked down at the backyard for a long moment and then came back in. "No dead bodies" he reported. Take that, beer pong!
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