Dear Man Who Lives Upstairs:
I'm not sure where the woman who was living with you went. All I know is she disappeared about a month ago and took the baby with her. By no means am I complaining. I mean think about it. No longer do I have to deal with the constantly screaming baby. Or the squeaking of your bed frame and thumping of the headboard against the wall.
It's quiet. And I like it.
But last night? Last night you ticked me off.
See, we both know that the washers in our apartments sound like a fighter jet getting ready for takeoff. Or a space shuttle that's rumbling when it's getting ready to launch into orbit.
In a word? The washers are loud. Very loud.
Yet you, the man who lives upstairs and knows exactly how loud these appliance are, you decided last night that you needed to do laundry. Which I wouldn't have had a problem with.
But you decided to start the laundry at 10:30 p.m.! And me? I had to wake up before the crack of dawn, at 5 a.m., to drag my butt into work.
So when I'm supposed to be drifting off into a peaceful night's sleep, you decide to fire up the washer and all of its rumbling glory. And there I lay. Wide awake. Because really, who can fall asleep when there's a space shuttle rumbling above your head, getting ready for lift off?
Your Cranky Downstairs Neighbor