When Shannon moved in next door, I should have sensed that trouble was brewing. First, she painted her house a garish purple, then switched to orange, and finally settled on a shade of blue that made my eyes water. But I’m the kind of person who believes in live-and-let-live. That was, until Shannon began turning her front yard into a bikini-clad sunbathing spectacle right outside my 15-year-old son Jake’s window.
One morning, Jake came bursting into the kitchen, his face as red as a tomato. “Mom, can you, um, do something about what’s going on outside my window?” he stammered.
Confused, I followed him to his room. As I peeked out his window, there was Shannon, sprawled out on a leopard-print lounger in a bikini that was more like a string of sequins than an actual outfit.
Mom, this has been going on every day. I can’t even open my blinds anymore! Tommy came over to study, and he froze when he saw her. I think his mom’s going to ban him from coming over again!” Jake groaned, flopping onto his bed.
I sighed and closed the blinds. “Just keep them shut for now, honey. I’ll handle it.” But I couldn’t help but wonder how long we’d have to endure this awkward situation.
After a week of watching Jake duck and dodge around his own room, I decided it was time to have a friendly chat with Shannon. Normally, I don’t meddle in what people do in their own yards, but Shannon’s ‘sunbathing’ was turning into more of a public performance than a private activity.
I found her lounging outside one day and called out, trying to strike a balance between a friendly neighbor and a concerned parent. “Hey, Shannon! Can we chat for a minute?”
She pulled down her oversized sunglasses and grinned at me. “Renee! Are you here to borrow some tanning oil? It’s coconut-scented, makes you smell like a tropical vacation.”
I forced a smile. “Actually, I wanted to talk about your sunbathing spot. It’s right in front of my son Jake’s window, and he’s 15, so…”
Before I could finish, she cut me off, her grin widening into something that made me a bit uneasy. “Are you serious? You’re worried about where I get my vitamin D? It’s my yard!”
“I’m not telling you what to do, but could you maybe move your chair to another spot? You have so much space, after all.”
She smirked and waved me off. “Honey, if your son has issues with seeing a confident woman, maybe you should invest in better blinds. Or therapy. Or both. I know a great life coach.”
I tried to explain, but she wasn’t interested. “Renee, my tanning schedule’s fully booked with not caring about your opinion until forever. Good luck with your little problem.” And with that, she went back to her tanning like I hadn’t said a word.
I walked back inside, shaking my head. I had a bad feeling this wasn’t the end of it. And boy, was I right.
A couple of days later, I opened my front door to grab the newspaper, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Right in the middle of my lawn, surrounded by my pristine flowers, was an old, filthy toilet. It was rusted, grimy, and looked like it had been pulled straight from a landfill. There was also a sign propped up on it that read, “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE!”
I didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to figure out who was responsible.
“Like my little art installation?” Shannon’s voice floated over from her yard. She was lying on her lounger, looking pleased with herself. “It’s called ‘Modern Suburban Discourse.’ Thought you could use a place to put all those opinions of yours!”
I stood there, livid. “This is vandalism!”
“No, sweetie, this is self-expression. Just like my sunbathing. I figured you needed a proper place to air your complaints.”