The Little Boy in the Attic

Alright, the little boy doesn’t live in an attic, he lives in the apartment upstairs from me but it sounded more interesting at first.

The Little Boy in the Upstairs Apartment(meh)

His name is Owen, a precocious and beautiful three-year old that spends his days racing from one end of the apartment to the next. Thankfully his mom is a working mom and little Owen, I’m sure, is off somewhere (not over my head) running till his heart’s content.

On occasion, I may  be privy to one of his record-breaking tantrums that he likes to throw from time to time which includes all that is needed to sound like he is dying. I know it’s a tantrum because in the middle of the stomping and wailing, you can hear, “No!” from sweet, tender little Owen repeated over and over.

When I see Owens mom I say nothing. She knows that I know about her sweet Owen. She also knows that I know that I’m in for it in the near future. God help us all.

I may not be able to say a word but I can cringe a bit.


After all, karma is a bitch.


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