Getting home after a quick outing to move Jeff’s Jeep to the Tuesday side of the street, I ran into a situation. Immediately after opening the door from the elevator, I saw my across-the-hall neighbor with her door wide open (where’s her cat? I thought) and a man standing in the hallway, leaning with his hand on the door jamb.
“And why are you sorry?” she asked, every bit the mother, leading her little boy through an apology to the neighbor whose goldfish pond he had just peed in.
“Because I called you a bitch,” he said.
Oh, my. I walked past as quickly as I could, trying to be invisible. I fumbled for the keys. Open the door fast, I thought.
“And why else?” she said, defiant, triumphant.
“Uh… I dunno. What else do you want me to say?”
It’s always best, I think, to conduct your private business on the inside of your doorway rather than the outside — or actually in — your doorway.
Unless, that is, you want to embarrass someone.
I spun through my doorway, avoiding eye contact with my neighbor and closing the door in a flash, shutting out the dirty laundry.
... but enough about me 
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