The following is an experimental text wherein I write about my life from a creepy neighbor’s perspective. Don’t get too disturbed.
To never have said “hello” to Joey and Jenn, an exemplary and charming couple, was the biggest botch I’ve ever committed. Of course, there was the time I hoped leaping onto my cousin’s wedding cake would incite her guests to laughter, but it only caused my expulsion from the family, leaving me an isolated, lettered recluse. Consequently and coincidentally, for the last several days I’ve been penning the quotidian happenings in the lives of a first-rate yet curious couple: the Sforzas. Again, I’ve yet to meet, or even say hello to, my literary specimens, but I keenly perceive I’ve captured them well. Read on.
There is no way to be certain as to what their vocations are. It seems, though, that Joey works from home, seeing as he is perpetually on the phone and hurrying out to, perhaps, meet with clients or buyers, depending on his line of work. Jenn, a stately, Hispanic woman of 22 years or so, leaves the house by 12:01 PM and is home by approximately 7:03 PM, lending credence to my postulation that she works part-time. As for what she does, I have no answer, but I do believe she is pregnant for three reasons, taken best together.
Firstly, the star couple is living with Joey’s Italy-born parents: a burly, demanding father and a gentle mother who’s recovering from some form of surgery. Since they both work, it’d be unintelligent to assume they’re indolent freeloaders, so it’s safer to assume they’re smartly saving for the baby’s coming.
Secondly, Joey, a rather giddy and even mindless young man of 23 years or so, does not cease kissing his bride’s abdominal muscles. Of course, this may be their form of affection, since societal individuals (apart from myself) have all sorts of love languages. However, Jenn doesn’t always enjoy these advances. When they kiss, however, she never turns him down. Also, Joey whispers into her midriff, “Baby tuna, we’re waiting!”
Finally, on one night, when the couple neglected to close their window, I heard Jenn wail, “But it’s not fair that my desk is in the corner!” Now, on occasion, I’ve seen the room about which she spoke, and Joey’s desk is also tucked neatly in the opposite corner. For a woman to so unreasonably argue and weep over such a trivial issue, she must either be clinically insane or, to my point, pregnant.
As for all else I’ve observed, the contents are too puzzling, too confidential or too commonplace to disclose to a gossip-seething Internet audience. As for me and my withdrawn lifestyle, I shall persevere, for I view it as a kind of noble solitude, the type for which pious monks are admired.