How I became an old lady. At 34.

This morning as I left my apartment, I found a small box of chocolates and a note hanging from my door handle:

"Dear Amanda, I would really like to apologise for the way my friends behaved last night and that you had to find the mess that you did...."

Yep. I am that neighbour. The one who knocks on the door of your apartment and says "I am so embarrassed to have to say this but, could you please pick up your rubbish and keep the noise down as I have to work early in the morning ..."

Surely there was a time when I was the one at the receiving end of such complaints? Actually, no. Looking back, no. Not even once. Oh there was that one time my neighbour decided to bang on my wall at 11am on a Sunday because I was laughing too loud.
Actually my laugh is about the only thing people have complained to me about. Which, when you really think about it is absurd! "Please keep the happy to a minimum M'am as some of us have to be killjoys in the morning!"

I won't lie, I am now quite embarrassed about the incident that drove my neighbours to buying chocolates and writing apologies. It means I have to be on my best behaviour for I have cast the first stone ... And I don't want to have to hang my head in shame and buy little boxes of Ferrer Rocher in an attempt to keep the peace! NO! I shall not! You watch how quiet I can be! And neat!!!

Oh let's face it. I am an old Nanna and I know it. I am the first to give a pursed lip "uh uhuh" look to a child who wants to put their grubby hands all over the magazines while in queue at the checkout. I tut-tut the cigarette butt droppers and if you think its OK to "taste" a grape before you buy it, well, you and I are not of the same breed.

No, I might as well let my pantyhose sag around my knees and let my chin hair grow to its unrealised glory - I am a 34 year old Nanna. And proud of it.