He didn’t pay a lick of attention to me because my bra-less boobs jumped around like a bounce house with ten kids in it.
We have new neighbors that don’t communicate to my liking. I prefer beers in the driveway, sometimes in the middle of the street, complaining about the weather, the water bill, and our property tax increase.
A police officer lives around the corner. Every morning while I walk the dogs, he’s watering or seeding, or fertilizing his not-so-good-looking lawn. Just today, I passed, smiled and said, “So when are you going to stop this nonsense and get one of those all-natural rock garden front lawns.?” He chuckled. Probably cursed me under his breath as I walked away; but look at the love we shared. This is the type of relationship I have with many of the neighbors.
In the past month, I’ve had to move the new neighbors’ trash bins off my lawn, pick up their ridiculous pile of recycling tossed in the front yard by the curb, and quietly curse them when they weren’t in ear shot. When can we have that beer in the driveway?
Their front yard looks pretty crappy. I don’t blame them. The previous owners have been moved out for four months before these new-bee’s moved in. Which I feel I need to add, that they should have thrown out old crap before they moved. Helloooo! Downsizing!
To say the least, their landscaping needs some tender loving care. And up until last week, I’ve been mowing the small strip backed up to my property. What can I say? I was feeling nice. (That’s gone.) Their new lawn mower service did loop-da-loops in my front yard because the kid refused to get off his big ass riding lawn mower and push mow the small area. Well, let’s just say, I wasn’t going to allow that ugly lawn art in my yard.
I just took my first sip of morning coffee and a puff of intoxicating nicotine, when I heard the contracted lawn service rev their engines. I peeked over the fence and saw the culprit, once again creating mower loops in my lawn. I slammed open the fence gate, holding my coffee cup in one hand and a smoke in the other, not realizing my boobs were flying everywhere. Who can control them? We all know they have a mind of their own.
The guy shut down his engine and stared at the ground. I thought I was very polite asking him to just mow the small strip. He nodded, looked up, then immediately put his head down. I don’t think I was yelling at him. He wasn’t in trouble. We agreed on how he should cut the lawn and I headed back through the gate and back into my backyard. That’s when I looked down. The girls were spinning in opposite circles under my thin bedtime t-shirt. That guy didn’t hear a word I said. He was too busy trying not to stare at the carnage under my shirt. Next week, I’ll put on a bra before my first smoke, just in case I have to retell the lawn guy how to mow.