My favorite part about going out to dinner every night (yes I know - I polish my Mom of the Year award daily) is picking out the perfect table for which to eavesdrop. I'm like a kid in a candy store. Ooooh - a group of girls - love the catty gossip. But look over there - it looks like that married couple is on the verge of a huge blow up. Wait... wait... hold the phone. I spy what might potentially be a first date. Jackpot.
And, just in case the conversation at the next table turns stale, I have become so proficient in my craft that I can read lips from one hundred paces.
As interesting as it may be to hear a two-hour recap of Nick's daily adventures performing fistulograms on 85-year-old men (don't get excited - it's not what it sounds like), the conversation at the next table always calls to me like a siren song.
At first I try my hardest to listen to both conversations, but suddenly I find Nick looking at me, like he's waiting for an answer to a question, and I have to ask him to please repeat everything he's said for the last 10 minutes. We've finally gotten to the point in our relationship where he can look into my eyes, and though they are staring into his, their unfocused glassiness gives me away and he knows I'm deep in the throes of spying.
So you can imagine my excitement, my ecstatic ELATION of unparallelled heights, when I discovered that if I put the baby monitor on just the right spot on the deck I can pick up the cordless phone conversations of my neighbors. In the interest of privacy I will not name names, but I can tell you that the cable guy will be somewhere in the neighborhood on Thursday between the hours of 10am - 2pm.
Ok, I have really boring neighbors, but that's what I get for living in The 'Burbs.
Now, in addition to this being a felony punishable by up to 15 years in prison, there is one other small drawback - my daughter could be eaten by a gaggle of geese in her crib upstairs and I would not so much as glance up from my book.
But that's a risk I'm willing to take.