Oh, hi! Yeah, I’m Bryant, your upstairs neighbor. I hear your kids sometimes—wow, they are WILD, huh? But you probably hear me sometimes too—like when I host random parties on a Tuesday night. Or when my three dogs’ too-long nails clack against the hardwood floors because I don’t like rugs but, somehow, I am never not vacuuming at nap time. Or when I have incredibly loud morning sex with my chain-smoking girlfriend Kim. You’ve definitely heard her name before—ha, ha. And probably my request for her to bite my chest. Don’t know how you’re explaining that to your son, who you have repeatedly told not to bite.

I’m glad I ran into you while you’re holding eight grocery bags, a dog leash, and your potty-training toddler is screaming and urgently grabbing both the doorknob and his crotch. I don’t know his name—and I’ll never learn it, even though I’ve been living here for three years and was literally the first person you saw when you came home from the hospital after he was born. I would have held the door open, but I was in a hurry to get to a concert. Hilariously enough, it ended up starting super-late because literally, all concerts do.

Anyway, I wanted to talk to you because I believe I have a solution to your parenting problems. When Kim and I stare out the window to the shared yard while enjoying our morning coffee in the nude, we’ve seen toddler boy and older girl—what is she four? Ten? I can never tell…Oh, seven? Huh. Well, I almost got it. But yeah, I’ll never remember that. Anytime I see her in the hallway, I will ask either or both how pre-school and middle school are. So, we’ve seen how rowdy they are and how they sometimes get on top on the picnic bench and jump while wearing homemade capes that they put care and a lot of time into—and that is like, crazy dangerous. I don’t know why you let them do that, always landing on their feet in the soft grass, laughing and laughing. I’ve also heard you take a work call on your cell and the park playground, where I let my largest untrained dog run off-leash and up the slide or between the moving swings—and I think that is irresponsible. It’s not enough to watch your kids with your eyes while on the phone with your chill, patient assistant Cary who always understands if you hop off the phone quickly because he is also a parent. Kim also saw you in the grocery store once while she was picking up 18 craft beers, and she said that you buy non-organic pineapple, the safest non-organic fruit to buy, as no pesticides touch the part of the food that your kids eat and love. Kim also said that you let your kid cry for two stops on the G train after her drawing flew out the door and into the wind at the Smith and 9th stop. So yeah, I thought I’d give you some advice: don’t do any of those things. Just tell your kids no jumping, always have laser-focus, buy more expensive food, and have children that never cry. 

Why are you holding your keys like a weapon?