I usually look forward to Sunday mornings.
Mr. Hawthorne and I get up and cook a nice breakfast on Sundays, as opposed to the wall paper paste (oatmeal) he has during the week. I found that the oatmeal is fairly palatable if you put butter, cream, brown sugar, honey, and fruits in it, but apparently that goes against the non-artery clogging benefits of the paste in the first place.
Whatever.
Mr. H. eats what he wants once a week.
On Sundays.
So I get up, go out to get my morning paper, and what do I see?
Why, it's a truck, parked on my newly laid sod.
A red truck.
Parked not only on my grass, but also parked illegally.
I go over to Dave's house, 3 houses over, since he's having work done there, to see if the truck belongs to one of his workers.
OK, at this point, Immona play some calming music.
Because my blood pressure is going up, UP, UPPPP.
Howza bout Lionel Richie's Easy Like Sunday Morning?
This morning is anything but easy.
Take deep breaths, Rosie.
Good air in.
Bad air out.
I walk over to Dave's with Dixie. He's there in the driveway with his girlfriend, and I ask him, "Dave, does that truck belong to one of your workmen? Could you please ask them to move it since it's parked on top of the sod I just put down and on my irrigation sprinklers?"
Now, here comes the scary part.
Out of NOWHERE, comes F-t-F.
You all know who F-t-F is, but because Sister Hawthorne doesn't like to see the F-word in print, I must defer to her oh-so-delicate sensibilities.
Anyways, Frank-The-Duck comes out and says, "That's my truck and there's nothing wrong with how it's parked and I'm not moving it."
Rosie: "But Frank, it's on top of sod I just put down, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd move it off."
F-t-F: "The truck isn't going anywhere. You don't own that property. It's common property."
Rosie: "Well, yeah, Frank, I know that's a utility easement but I paid for that easement and I paid for the grass that's on it."
F-t-F: "There are two of us out here and only one of us is doing anything illegal and that's you. I'm going to call the dog catcher on your dog. And if you want the truck moved then you can just call the sheriff."
Rosie: "Frank, you are indeed a piece of work."
And Rosie exits the premises.
Double click on the above picture and notice I took Frank's advice.
See that extra car in the cul-de-sac.
Hellllloooooo, Occifer Powers.
After explaining the situation to the deputy, he went off to talk to Good-Neighbor-Frank.
Poor deputy doesn't know what he's getting ready to step in.
Frank argues with the deputy, then slowly goes across to get in his truck.
Very slowly.
Frank ain't happy.
But, hell, he's the bastard who told me to call the sheriff if I didn't like it.
Frank gets in his truck, leans out the window, and yells out to me,
"This isn't over, Ann!"
(OK, my real name is Rosie Ann Hawthorne.)
I walk out to the end of my driveway and ask Frank, "Was that a threat?"
Apparently Occifer Powers heard Frank and went over to ask him the very same question.
Just in case you want to know what an ASS looks like, this is it.
The next twenty minutes or so were spent with Frank arguing with the deputy.
At one point the deputy even asked him, "Why do you want to act like such a prick?"
Then his wife came out to add in her two cents.
She threatened to have my Avalanche towed off MY PROPERTY.
All I wanted was for him to move his damn truck off my grass and sprinkler system.
Between Frank and his wife, the poor deputy couldn't get in a word.
Then, the coup de grace:
(Or as Aunt Sandy would say, "the coop of grace," with a long a.)
Frank's wife to me: "You are a horrible, horrible, horrible person. The world would be a much better place without you!"
Note: Not horrible once. Not horrible twice. But horrible THREE times!
That reminds me of another Lionel Richie song.
I'm once, twice, three times a horrible person.
I couldn't believe she said that to me.
I'm definitely crossing them off my Christmas Cookie List.
At this point, my friend Meri from the end of the street was roller blading down, told me she had just felt some really bad karma going down at my end of the street, told me she loved me and gave me a great big ol' hug. Thanks, Meri. I needed that.
Well, the deputy had heard Frank's veiled threat and what his wife had yelled at me and came back to talk to me.
He told me if Frank ever parked there again to just call a tow truck.
He said he was sorry I had to live with people like that next door,
and not to be too upset by what she said.
"Consider the source," he said.
Now I have to worry about retaliation from those two nut jobs.
After the deputy left and Frank left to huff and puff in his own yard,
Dave's girlfriend called to apologize saying they certainly didn't want to be in the middle.
I told her I appreciated her call very much and thanked her for calling and all I wanted was for Frank not to park on my grass.
She understood completely and
told me she knew how hard I've worked in my yard and that I take pride in it and that Dixie is welcome in her yard anytime.
Thank you, Camille.
Easy like Sunday morning, my ass.
ETA: Notmuchofacook, I believe the comment you're thinking about is on this post.
I truly don't think that's F-t-F's son.
I think it's just somebody messing with me.
And I'm nothing if not messable.
