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My neighbor bow-flexes

My neighbor bow-flexes. (Yes, I know, I'm a writer, and technically, bow-flexes isn't a verb. To be proper, I'd need to say, "My neighbor uses a bow-flex" or "My neighbor works out on a bow-flex." But alas, it just has a better ring to it when I make it a verb. Forgive me, grammar gods!)

Anway, my neighbor bow-flexes. I know this because anytime he bow-flexes my apartment shakes like a train is rumbling by.

See, my apartment is actually an old house split down the middle for two living quarters that was later split into three when remodeling lopped off the back rooms and turned it into a separate apartment.

The home was probably built back in the 1920s, at least, and has the most amazing wood floors. But since it was built originally as a double, and then later remodeled, the support system doesn't take into account the different movements going on in the three separate apartment. One of my neighbors likes walking around in her high heels all the time, and I enjoy her clippity-clop throughout the home.

But the bow-flex has just got to go. It produces this kind of whoosh wave throughout my apartment everytime he uses it, which is often, and it's loud as heck with those cheap weights clanging down.

The saddest thing is that it doesn't appear to be doing any good. My neighbor seems as scrawny and lifeless as usual. That boy doesn't have nothing to flex.

Posted by Lara Richards at 4:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)