I had to go across to my neighbours today to ask them to turn their music down. They were blaring hip hop and as groovy as it was, I was struggling to work.
It would’ve been fine if the man who lived in the house was called Bob.
Bob, I would say. Would you mind turning your music down.
And Bob would say Sure Violet, and he would turn the music down.
But the man who lives there is not called Bob. His name is Desire. And Desire make me very bloody uncomfortable. Not for any other reason than he is exactly like his name.
Desirable. And very very young.
And so I avoid Desire at every opportunity.
He probably thinks I am mad. I see him mowing the lawn. He waves and I duck. He never wears a shirt and he has these eyes and anyway, I am sure you understand why I have to avoid Desire.
Today though the music was over the top insane.
Fuckit, I thought. I don’t care about Desire, I’m going over.
I marched across the road, knocked on the door, ready for confrontation. Maybe confrontation with some sexual energy, but confrontation nevertheless.
A man opened the door. It was not Desire.
It was another man. A new man.
A tenant who clearly also digs hip hop.
Uh hi, I said tentatively. I’m Violet, from across the road.
My name too is a little suggestive and I did think of giving myself a pseudonym, but it was all too quick.
Before I could say anything about the music he said –
That is one sexy name. Violet.
And he said it in the most charming, with a voice like honey, smooth kind of way.
V I O L E T.
He looked at me with big dark deep eyes. I was determined to stand my ground.
And you are?
I demanded to know.
I’m so sorry Violet. That was rude of me.
L O V E M O R E.
He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
Dear sweet god.
I have Desire and Lovemore living across the road from me.
They’ve told me Forgive is moving in next week. And they’re still playing hip hop.
I’m either going to have to move in or move out.
Or love more.