HONK HONK: An open letter to the neighbors

No, not you, neighbor. I'm not talking about you, across the street, with a 3-year-old and a minivan he likes to break into. It's not your car horn that bothers me, because it's both rare and understandable. To a 3-year-old-boy, the front seat is akin to nirvana and the car horn is a rare and unusual beast that beckons everybody. What astounding power! That, I get.

And I'll be honest. When it happens, I grin a little and say "Oh, AJ" and move on.

So please don't think that this letter is for you.

Nor is this for our neighbors to the north who busily and sometimes not-so-quietly leave the house in early morning. Your noise is both purposeful and incidental. And rarely involves a car horn.

No, friends. I suspect you share my cantankerous attitude for the neighbors to whom this letter is aimed.

Now. You. The people who need to read this letter. I want to tell you that I've tried for months now to understand your peculiar habit. I've discussed it at length with friends. I've tried to explain to myself and others why every day, every time, upon entering your driveway, you honk - twice. HONK HONK. Some friends offered up the idea that perhaps the driver lacks keys to the home. I told myself that after an unfortunate incident walking in on an embarrassed teenage son's onanism, you opted to announce your arrival or that, perhaps, your 1980s Honda had some short in it that made the car honk twice every time it was placed into "Park." HONK. HONK.

I do not think this is the case. I have a deep suspicion that this is simply your way of saying "Honey, I'm home!" and that you have little clear understanding of the idea that your neighbors - ALL OF US - can hear your honking as well. HONK. HONK.

Let me tell you something, sweethearts: We can. We hear your double honk at 3 p.m., 10 a.m., and it rings particularly well throughout the neighborhood when you pull up at 11:30 p.m.. HONK. HONK.

We live near a lake that is inhabited practically year-round by geese. Trust me when I say this: their honking is enough. Yours is over the top and I've grown weary of it. HONK. HONK.

I've tried to imagine practically any scenario that would allow me, as a good citizen of a neighborhood, to make a nightly noise after 9 p.m. that rivals your double - or sometimes triple honk. Each time, the explanation includes serious illness, emergency, or perhaps fire. Rarely, in my mind, is it a nightly habit practiced after your average neighborhood citizen has gone to bed. HONK. HONK. HONK.

Every day. Every night. HONK. HONK.

I've thought of thousands of ways to respond. Few of them include civil conversation, partially because I'm in my 67th week of pregnancy over the course of the last 104 weeks, but also because I cannot imagine a scenario wherein honking one's horn in one's own driveway several times a day for no discernible reason is civil or worthy of civil response.

My only thought now is to grab the car alarm Emergency button and try to beat you to the punch. Or announce my leaving on mornings when I teach, with my own HONK HONK at 6 a.m.. Or perhaps waddle over some night with a dozen eggs and give them a toss at the offending vehicle. Or waddle over and ask "What kind of short does your electrical system have that the car HONKS every time you put it in park?"

Unfortunately for me, I'm a bit too civil. This is my only weapon. HONK. HONK.

And I haven't even BEGUN to discuss your epic battle on the front lawn of last Friday. That was both civil AND classy. Thanks for delivering to us a sweet soap opera. HONK. HONK.