Convos Outside My Bedroom Window

Here's what I don't get. People standing right the hell outside my bedroom window, which is right on the corner of (oh wait, I don't need people knowing where I live) talking. I just heard the word "boogey." Who says that?

Woman #1 is talking about some guy who is at her house with a bad leg. "I have to go home and deal with the "brute." Do wives call their husbands "brutes"? I'm thinking so. A few seconds have now elapsed with Woman #1 talking to Woman #2 about the aforementioned "boogeying." And now there were three. Three women gathered outside my bedroom window fawning over each other's dogs.

"I'm done with my bag of poop." You don't say. Ok, it appears as though the Brute's name is Peter. And I don't think she's Woman #1's husband. "I was just telling her that he's home. Staying through Thanksgiving. I went into the kitchen and he's making toast. I have to go pee and he's sitting on the fucking toilet."

Here's what needs to happen. Woman #1 needs to go home and deal with her Peter brute. Woman #2 needs to commence her yoga or boogeying or whatever the case may be. And Woman #3 needs to go take care of Bailey's poop. And they all need to do it the hell away from my bedroom window. Next time, I will open my blinds with the fervor of a maniac about to climb the walls. We'll see what happens with that.