Gimpy Elephant George and His 6-Inch Heels

New people just moved into the flat upstairs. They are so fucking loud it sounds like landmines going off up there! They walk up and down the stairs making so much noise that my friend said they must be "gimps" (although this was after she searched for the nicer term of disabled) and my hubby said they "sound fat" (without searching for any nicer way to say that). By the end of the morning that we didn't get to sleep through and waste away, we had decided they were actually gimpy fatties wearing high heels who really really really get excited about stairs.

I'm being really hard on these kids, I know. In fact, they don't appear to be either, unless you call young and fresh-out-of-the-dorm gimpy and fat. I'm sure they are really nice people; they just haven't lived in an apartment/house with professionals before. I'm going to give them a couple of days before I lay down the noise law. Ambient noise is fine, but treating shared living space like you're still in college isn't. I know, I know, I sound like a cranky old person. But you know what? I am a cranky old person these days! I have a job and greying hair. I complain about "kids these days". I love when I can just go home, get in my pjs, and go to bed at 8:30pm after watching "Murder She Wrote." Okay, I'm kidding on the last one, but you get the point. I don't want a heard of elephants living above me; it makes me cranky and we all know how bad it is when I'm cranky...

But no worries friends, I'll break 'em in nice and easy with my Southern Charm and winning smile. By the end of the week, we'll have no more Gimpy Elephant George and his cadre of Heely-McHeelersons. Firm and fair, people. Firm and fair...