So I was taking Captain out for his morning constitutional, as the neighborhood miscreants have traumatized him so badly he can’t go crap in his own yard, when there’s a woman walking a little yip dog down my sidewalk. A woman I, by the way, have never met - never greeted her in the street, never seen her when I was running, never met her at a neighborhood meeting, as far as I know. And you know what she says?
If you were guessing “Hi!” or “Hot out already, isn’t it?” or “What kind of dog is that?” you’re wrong. What did the cuntlapper say as a social nicety? How does she think you should greet a neighbor, one also walking a dog, an activity that generally results in some fellow fucking feeling, as it is, yes, already hot out.
"Why don’t you clean up your porch?"
I didn’t even fucking HEAR her the first time, it made so little sense, because my brain actually filled in “Good morning!” between my ears first. And goddamn it, I actually felt I had to explain myself. “We’re working on it - we’re trying to really get organized instead of just cleaning this time, so we’ve been hauling boxes out, and…” “Why don’t you clean up your yard, too?” “Uh, my boyfriend’s putting those shelves back into his van…” “Well, it’s been like that for a while.”
Meanwhile Captain, who never barks on the leash, starts barking his head off. I think he was saying “Mom, don’t let that bitch talk to you like that! Also, her doglet is stupid!” I’m sure the Assistant Ladies Auxiliary Neighborhool Patrol Whore thought he was saying “I want to eat that lady, because I am large and have a square head and am brindled, and of course I belong to these trashy people. They have dog fights in the back yard.”
So finally when it was almost too late and Captain was barking too loud for her to hear I yelled “And a good morning to you!”
The thing is, I was going to clean up the fucking porch TODAY. It’s just cardboard boxes, okay? But they need to be hauled over around to the side of the house for trash pickup, and I haven’t done it, and I actually have the day off, so I was going to do it. But goddamn it, now she’ll look at a clean porch and smug to herself “Well, I told HER! Her and her nasty dog! Isn’t that right, pookums?” and I am so pissed that somebody was such a fucking busybody without first observing the social graces that I fucking refuse to clean my porch off. (And those shelves have been there by the driveway literally for two days, cunt. Mind your goddamned manners. The porch, okay. That’s been a problem. BUT NOT YOUR PROBLEM.)
And the bigger thing is, why the hell did I let some old busybody bother me? This is really pissing me off and I don’t even know her! I want to put up a SIGN or something that expresses all the things I didn’t think to say to her and her stupid fucking dog when they were walking past, and even I know that’s pretty third grade.
Argh! You know, I work. I work full fucking time, even every third weekend. I take Spanish classes two nights a week and take my dog to obedience classes another night, because I don’t want an ill-behaved fluffball that has to be dragged on walks like a fucking pet rock, bitch. When you were yelling at me, your dog was fighting the leash with part of it in its mouth like the world’s smallest, dumbest “man pulls car with teeth” stunt I’ve ever seen. Meanwhile, you interrupted me practicing sitting and staying while Mom walks through the door, and then coming through in a sedate and polite manner. (By the way, Captain was in a sit when she oozed by, and although he did bark he did not get up through all of that. Because he’s a good boy.) So I might not have time to be Yard of the Fucking Month, and I certainly don’t have time to worry about other people’s yards unless I’m at risk of contracting malaria or something.
And the thing that really fucking chaps my ass is, if she’d JUST SAID something NICE first, she probably would have gotten her desired effect! What was she, desperate to put me in my place every time she sees some fucking cardboard boxes, and she finally set eyes on me and could not control herself? Is that it? I hope she eventually learns to move on from the tragic accident in which she lost her social fucking graces and heal. Arrrrgh! I thought if I Pitted her I’d feel better, and here I’m still furious! And I know ten people are going to come in here and tell me I’m an asshole for leaving some boxes on my porch! I just know it!
ETA - To cut you off at the pass, my yard is cut and edged and it doesn’t snow here, so I’ve fulfilled my part of the fucking social compact in that respect. I don’t want you thinking the grass is six feet high just so it hides the rusted out cars.