When I politely asked my neighbor to stop sunbathing in her barely-there bikinis right in front of my teenage son’s bedroom window, I never expected her to retaliate by dumping an old toilet on my lawn with a sign that read, “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE!” I was furious, but karma had a way of balancing things out.
It all started when Shannon moved in. She painted her house in bright neon colors—purple, orange, blue—you name it. I’ve always been a “live and let live” kind of person, but that changed when her sunbathing antics began just outside my 15-year-old son Jake’s window.
One morning, Jake came into the kitchen looking mortified. “Mom,” he said, red as a tomato, “can you do something about… that?” I peeked outside and saw Shannon lounging in what could barely be called a bikini. I told him to keep the blinds closed, but he felt defeated. “Tommy came over to study yesterday, and he just froze! I can’t deal with this!”
After watching Jake awkwardly navigate his own room for a week, I decided to talk to Shannon. I approached her politely, but she just laughed and suggested I invest in “better blinds” or even “therapy” for Jake’s “repression.”
A couple of days later, I found her “response” in my yard: a filthy old toilet with the same cheeky sign. She claimed it was an “art installation,” but I wasn’t amused. When my complaints went ignored, she upped the ante with sunbathing parties, karaoke nights, and even drum circles that sounded like a circus.
I chose to stay calm and let karma work its magic. A few weeks later, I had a good laugh when a fire truck pulled up outside. Shannon had reported a “sewage leak” from the toilet, hoping it would get removed. The firefighter took one look at the dry toilet and told her to “call a plumber” or perhaps an interior designer.
But that wasn’t the end. One hot afternoon, Shannon decided to take her sunbathing to the next level by hauling her lounge chair onto her garage roof, margarita in hand. Then, her sprinkler system went off, soaking her and sending her tumbling into her prized flower bed. The entire neighborhood got a front-row seat, and even Mrs. Peterson chimed in, asking if she was “auditioning for Baywatch.”
After that spectacle, things settled down. Shannon stopped sunbathing outside Jake’s window, the toilet vanished, and she even built a privacy fence.
The next morning, Jake cautiously raised the blinds. “Mom, is it safe to come out of witness protection now?”
I smiled and handed him a plate of pancakes. “Yep, honey. I think that show’s been canceled for good.”
