I have a new neighbor. There are two apartments in the house, so it’s just him and us. He is retired, and very nice and well-meaning, but pushes the bounds on normal human interaction. If you believe everything he says, he was a tree trimmer that fell out of a tree and broke all the bones in his body and is now on social security. He does some work doing carpentry now, but overall does not have enough to do. Sort of hangs around, talking and talking, and talking… like, whenever we are outside. It’s totally possible that he had a TBI, and I’m trying to remain friendly and patient.
Him: If you ever need help with the horses, you know I used to have horses!
Me: Oh, really? What kind?
Him: Morgans and Chestnuts.
In My Head: Those are NOT two comparable categories.
Him: Oh, you don’t ride Western?
Me: Umm, no.
Him: Why not?
Me: I event.
IMH: WTF?
H: My daughter’s a big time horse trainer for all the big-wigs.
Me: Really? Does she do western (from previous conversation)?
H: Oh, she does EVERYTHING.
IMH: So basically she has NO idea about anything.
H: Oh I saw you riding, he rides so nice! How does the other one ride?
M: Mmmm, like hell actually. He has a nasty bolting issue.
H: Oh if I had a western saddle I bet I could fix that.
IMH: Well then you really have a TBI.
M: He’s actually older and has a bad hoof condition as well, so he is not ridden anymore.
H: (seems relieved that riding the best is not actually a possibility)
H: Do you have to burp him much?
Me: (blank stare) Umm. No. He’s a good boy.
H: That appaloosa my daughter had needed to be burped all the time, then she’d turn and bite you!
We gave him some squash, and now he keeps saying that he could cook some up for us, and that he could mow the lawn, fix our wheelbarrow, do I need help with my flower garden, etc. At one point he proclaimed we could share ingredients. He has four pots of plants that he brought with him. I have 10 squash plants, 20 tomatoes, 10 peppers, onions, herbs, etc. We are happy to give away our extra, but I have everything he has in pots. That’s not sharing. He also didn’t know what basil was, proclaimed my carrots to be parsley, and has had a garden since before I was born. In general, he thinks he knows everything, but basically doesn’t have a clue.
God give me patience. I know it could be much, much worse, but seriously. Just leave us the hell alone, and don’t touch the horses, the lawn, or the gardens.