being neighborly

So it's 1:34 Tuesday afternoon when my cell rings as I'm talking to my brother. Glance at the display-see it's my neighbor & hit "Ignore". It rings twice more; I throw it under a cushion. I have no idea what possessed me, but I return her call. This is how I end up picking up her kid from school & watching him until she gets home "about 3". I don't have to tell you that everything about this kid drives me C-R-A-Z-Y. I know. I'm mean. I'm a bitch. Yeah. I get that. First, it takes him about 3 minutes to get into the car, not because he's worried about coming home with a virtual STRANGER...He's worried about whether or not I've got the dog in the car. After a lot of half-hearted cajoling, he finally gets in. Then it starts, WHY IS YOUR CAR SMALL? WHY DOES IT TAKE THE GIRLS SO LONG? WHY IS IT MESSY IN HERE? WHY AREN'T YOU AT WORK? YOU ALWAYS WEAR YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT. I sit in silence. I have no words. None that wouldn't come out brusque and cold. Mother always said, "If you don't have anything nice to say..." Did I mention that my neighbor promised to return by 3 pm? By 5 o'clock, I am losing it. Think sweating for no reason and that feeling that your head is going to rocket off your shoulders from the negative energy your thoughts are generating. Kids are running around, complaining about things they have no business complaining about and asking for dinner. By now, I'm convinced that this woman has run off and left her child with me to raise forever. I have visions of having to turn the space under the stairs into a spare bedroom for our new "son." There's no sign of the husband. It's beginning to turn dusk. WTF. I begin to think I should be looking up the number for CPS, so they can pick up this abandoned child. The thoughts that race through my head as I continue to furiously clean my kitchen are murderous to say the least. I envision exactly how I'm going to tell this woman off when and if she finally returns. You'd better believe I'm going to tell her all about herself and her audacity, leaving her kid with some crazy woman for hours on end. She has no idea who I am. I could be a lunatic. Her kid could be locked in a box right now for all she knows. On one of my many rant-filled calls to Mitchell, he gives me the old "That's-what-you-get-for-talking-to-people" speech. I vow to be cold and detached from this point on. I hang up on his laughter. It's almost 6 by the time my neighbor returns home to collect her child. I do not tell her off. I feign concern at her predicament and make the appropriate sympathetic noises as she retells her tale. Now I'm wishing we'd built someplace less populated.