What weekend would be complete without the following conversation?

"Honey, why are there 4 cop cars parked outside?"
"?" me, having been blissfully unaware of any law enforcement presence outside of the "Rosemary and Thyme" dvd.

So I had to open the blind at that point, despite raising the bedroom temps about 5 degrees in the HOT summer sun. And then I frequently checked in on the drama unfolding. As drama goes this was kinda disappointing. I didn't see anyone led away in cuffs, I didn't see the ghetto booty babe mincing down the street in her stiletto sandals. I saw the cars ease off, one by one, and a tow truck arrive to cart away a white SUV. And a uniform came to the door to ask if we had seen anyone driving it.

When I consider that this is the most excitement seen on this block since the kid came to my door one morning trying to bum cigarettes, I have to admit that we picked a good area to move into. Quiet neighbors. No excess of crime or hostility. Despite the part about not being able to understand more than one word in five that anybody next door says to me, I like it here. It's a good place to raise a toddler, a place in which I'm not afraid to bring home an infant.

Small Town America strikes again. Be afraid, people, lest I start wearing an apron and heels to start taking out the trash. I might lose my marbles one day and paint the fence white. And buy a minivan.