Meet the Barefoots. Barefeets? Barefeeted?

You know how they say you never get a second chance to make a good first impression?

I just blew it yesterday.

See, we have new neighbors.

Sort of.

After more than two years on the market (I know!), the house next door finally sold. The first clue was late last week, with a couple of trucks in the driveway and workers pressure cleaning the roof while strange children wandered in and out of the front door. Then a large Dumpster appeared in front of the house. Hmm.

My husband likes to make and fix random things in the garage with the door wide open, so he sees a lot of people going by. (Unlike myself, who is usually too busy preparing gourmet meals in the kitchen sitting in front of the computer with the blinds closed.) He was making and fixing things this weekend when he saw Mr. New Neighbor and went over to introduce himself.

Then, my husband gave me the scoop. The new people are moving from another house in our same town and won't be moving into the house next door until they renovate it, which won't be for a couple of months. This makes me think either these people are rich and just downsizing, or the housing market isn't as bad as the newsmakers are saying because A) these people actually bought a house and B) have money to rip out walls, floors, cabinets, etc. and replace them while living in another house. (Because, really, replacing that stuff is key.)

Then yesterday afternoon, I went out to spy on what exactly my husband was doing in the garage and saw a group of about three families -- kids, dogs, everyone -- from up the street gathered around Mr. New Neighbor, grilling him welcoming him to the neighborhood. I wasn't planning on meeting anyone, and I didn't look very special. There might have been a spot on my shirt, and my hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. I wasn't even wearing shoes. Neither was the Man-cub, just barely awake from his nap and sporting super bed-head. Yet what did I do? Went and mingled with the crowd. Let my child run barefoot in the street. My husband left the garage and joined us, and I noticed he wasn't wearing shoes, either -- but he was wearing an old T-shirt.

Perfect! I can just imagine the report the new, rich neighbor gave his family: "Everyone in the neighborhood swarmed around me, and our next-door neighbors are a bunch of barefoot hippies! What have we done?!"

(Then at some point, I think Mr. New Neighbor mentioned he wanted a cold beer, and one of the guys from up the street joked, "Oh, we don't drink around here.")

The next time the new neighbors see us, we better be dressed like we're going to the Oscars to make up for our poor first impression. Then maybe they will get past that first impression of us and let the Man-cub play with their kids (two boys and a girl -- all under five, I think -- and a baby girl on the way).

Do they make tuxedos in size 2T?