The wee boy, who lives next door, has his bedroom next to mine. The walls must be paper-thin, the sound insulation in terrible.I've heard them have rows, parties (like there's one going on in your own home) and all kinds of other things... Most arguments end up with the wife saying to her husband, "It's all because of your fucking Mother."
I am not in my bedroom, but on the other side of the house. For twenty minutes, now, the wee toddler has been crying and screaming, "Mama!"
If I can hear him, I'm sure his bloody Mother can. She should be ashamed of herself. If I was more brave, I'd go and say something to her - but I'm not. So I won't.
The poor wee kiddy.
No comments:
Post a Comment