— What is this?! Who are you, you little kids? — I look at the two children: they’re running around my yard with a huge snow shovel and at full speed practically crash straight into my brand-new “Rover.”
— And who are you? — the girl in an absurd hat tilts her head as if nothing happened.
— I live here. And that was my car — I point at the dented vehicle.
— And we’re over there — the little one nods toward the other side of the fence.
— Then let’s go — I step closer and take both of them by the hands.
— Uncle, take it easy— the boy jerks, trying to break free.
— Or I’ll tell Aunt that she has a karate champion for a nephew.
— Sure, and I’m then Santa Claus, — I snap, and drag them into the neighboring yard.
— No— Santa is kind, — the girl says importantly, looking at me. — But don’t worry, our Sonya will teach you everything.
I came here to hide from the city noise and my pesky relatives, but in the end I ended up among noisy neighbors, where everything is run by an unbearable girl-catastrophe.