The Thing About Small Towns

Our family lives in a pretty small town these days. It’s the town where Hubs and I both went to school (he was basically born and raised here, I came here when I was 13). It’s the type of town where most people either stay forever or leave and come back — the lucky few leave and never return.

We were the “leave and come back” variety. Both of us lived other places between graduating high school and when we returned. We both planned never to return. Small town living not the life for me – I can’t even watch “Green Acres” without getting claustrophobic. When we were selling our house, though, Stepson’s mom told us, “We’re moving to SmallTown.” [Cue sound of needle scratching on record]. WHAT?! I’m not entirely sure what possessed her to pick this place to live, knowing that as a small town, people would know Hubby and I and there would probably be no secrets and we’d find out everything anyway. Hubby and I made the decision then to move here too, so he could be closer to Stepson.

This town is too small, though.

I see the Ex on the road all the time – driving her car (“Mom’s Taxi”), or even out walking with her cell phone glued to her ear. If I don’t see her, guaranteed that my friends do, calling to tell me they saw her at the grocery store or at the greenhouse buying potted plants. Ugh. (Sometimes it’s funny – like the time my sister called to say she saw Ex dropping Stepson off somewhere, and “You should have seen the nasty pleather pants she was wearing! Ugh, not good!”).

In any case – it’s about time for Hubby and I to branch out again, and get our family the heck out of Dodge!

I realized it because last week was the Town Junk Day. I can’t think of what the official name is – basically it’s a spring cleaning event where you purge your garage of all the crap you no longer want, put it on your front lawn, and the township comes by with trucks to pick it up. All fine and dandy… except (and you knew there had to be an “except”) … prior to the township picking it up, the town’s “finest” come through with their pickup trucks and essentially “dumpster dive” at your curb. Now, I realize that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure — but these folks don’t even wait til it’s dusk to come driving by to root through your refuse. It’s more than a little creepy, and it’s what keeps me from participating in Junk Day. Last week, I saw someone take an old upholstered wing chair off someone’s front lawn and toss it into the back of their truck. Upholstery, people! Do you really want someone’s second hand upholstery? (Let me tell you: You don’t.) I’m a fairly clean person, but as the mom of two young kids and proud “owner” of a husband – even the cleanest people have dirty upholstery. I can’t even tell you how much formula has been spilled on our sofa. Goodness only knows what kind of crud you’re getting along with that free chair.

Ugh – I shudder to think.

Yup. It’s time to move.