where do you live?

"That must be pretty unbearable", piped one of the mothers at Alex's pre-school. She was talking to me and motioning to the assortment of vehicles and heavy machinery making the determined racket on the tennis court across from the sports field.
"What are they doing? Is that clammer going on alongside you?, she pressed with a double question, in an obviouis attempt to establish exactly where I resided. They knew I was from over that way somewhere and within walking distance, since I drove only during heavy downpours.
"No, I live next to the parking lot", I said to put an end to the charaded interest in the goings on beyond the sports field. "They are just filling in the cracks on the tennis court", I relaid in an attempt to put the matter to rest.
"Literally.. next to the parking lot", another predictably asked. "Which side?"
Everyone wants to know where the familiar faces live. Knowing where one lives; the neighbourhood, the style of home - it all offers suggestions about the kind of person they are; especially when we tend to form vague impressions and imaginings about remote acquaintances. When we know where another lives, the information colours our earlier
illustrations; house or unit, shabby or well maintained, old or new, even the colour scheme and the garden; they all appear to say much about the person who lives there. Now whether our assumptions are correct are an entirely different matter.
And since I struggle to offer verbal gratifications that would actually allow others to get to know me, I guess knowing where I live can bury some of the intrigue for the minority who are genuinely curious.