The Queen's Rambles

If you recall, for awhile I had a neighbor from Pakistan. She was young (24) and in an arranged marriage. She couldn’t speak English very well and was heavily pregnant with her third child. Her oldest child turned 4 this month, so she has her hands full with a preschooler and two toddlers.

It was such a relief for me when she moved away. I felt sorry for her. She was a victim of some really awful patriarchal ideas. But? I just didn’t like her. I had no interest in any of the things she wanted to talk about. She was mean to her children and had no desire to be a parent. It showed. She clearly didn’t like any of her kids. They were a burden. I can’t blame her for having children that she didn’t want–even though she lives in America now, she is still under the thumb of her religion (though they do not practice) and culture. She does not understand that she has a choice.

Anyway, they moved to a townhouse less than a half mile away.

Last night I took the kids for a walk around the lake, then we stopped at the playground. Guess who we ran into?

Her kids were all crying, while she screamed at them. She tried to make conversation, but I didn’t have much to say to her. I did learn that she is driving now, so that is a good start toward a better life.

Then she says “I need your clothes for my children.” I was kind of baffled. A couple of years ago I had offered her a box of hand-me-downs, but she had quite rudely turned her nose up at them. A few weeks later she told me I had to give them to some lady she knew who needed clothes, but I told her I had already given them away and she got huffy.

I told her I didn’t have any clothes to give anyone. “But I have three children! You must give me the clothes!”

I just kind of stared at her.

“I do not have time to do laundry! Look at my three children. I need your clothes! You must give them to me.”

I have a big box of clothes to give away since I just went through Elsa’s closet, but I’ll be damned if I am going to give them to someone who demands them and who thinks having three children is an excuse to not keep up with the laundry. I have two children and somehow manage to do my laundry. It is the only chore I am able to complete with consistency.

“I don’t have any clothing to give you,” I told her.

She huffed around. “Well, that is fine for now, but you must give me your phone number so I can call you and tell you what we need and you can save clothing for us.”

I suddenly got really busy helping Elsa across the monkey bars, then we left while she was dealing with her kids. I was trying to think of what kind of fake phone number I could give her if push came to shove. I do not need this woman calling me.