You Can Call Me Sharon...

Yes, we are still on  Monday.  A lot happened on Monday. After being set free from the office, I drove home chatting with my Mom about not being in the office and other important stuff.  Upon arriving inside I noted to her that we had received a really pretty Christmas card.  It was three trees that stood up.  I looked inside and it said "Merry Christmas from Margaret." I had no clue who Margaret was.  I looked around for an envelope and found nothing. Convinced B must have thrown it out when he opened it, I looked in the recycling - nothing. Looked in the garbage - nothing.  I told my Mom that I must go solve this riddle and would call her back.  After hanging up, I realized I needed to check B's garbage and that is when I found the envelope.  There was no addresses on it so it was clearly placed into our mailbox or door. It said:

Sharon and B

Sharon? Who the heck is Sharon?  It dawned on me then that Margaret is our zany downstairs neighbor.  But where did she get the idea my name is Sharon? It is not even close to my name. And she put it first implying that she was closer to, or knew me more than, B.  Or at least she was closer to Sharon, whomever that may be.

I should not even be that surprised.  This is the same lady that almost burned the house down.  She is also the lady that decided she wanted to get a dog and then decided she wanted to get everyone's permission.  Nice gesture, I suppose, although there are no rules against animals in our complex.  This made for a priceless moment.  First she tried to ask me:

Me answering door: Hello?

Neighbor: I want to get a dog and I am asking everyone if it is okay.

Me: Well I don't see why it would be a problem, but you should really ask B as he owns this place not me.

This was before we were married. I am pretty sure she didn't call me Sharon. And I know I didn't introduce myself as Sharon.  Anyway...

I warned B that she was going to talk to him. He spent the next week dodging her figuring she would just give up.  Nope.  She cornered him in the parking lot one day and he reluctantly rolled down his car window:

Neighbor: I want to get a dog and I am asking everyone if it is okay.

B:  What kind of dog?

Neighbor:  A brown one.

HAHAHAHA - a brown one. I am pretty sure that B meant what BREED of dog, not what COLOR when he asked what KIND.  In fact, he confirmed this to me when he told me she was insane.  Of course he always says that.

So in the end...she got a black and white dog.

Does black and white equal brown?

Maybe Sharon* knows.

*I have told B that he now has to walk around the house yelling SHARONNNNN like Ozzy does.  So far he has refused.