I know you are all wondering…what the hell happened, right?!

Ok, so first, I know there was some confusion in the comments and in emails, mostly because I’m really bad at explaining things, and also, I am pretty sure I ate a psychedelic mushroom the other day, and it’s seriously messing with me and my ability to function.  Even though Andy says it was not a psychedelic mushroom, just a random old mushroom that fell out of the carton in the fridge and got moldy.

Also, he doesn’t understand why I would eat a slimy brown mushroom sitting on the shelf of the fridge, but whatever Andy, I was hungry, the bigger question here is, where is that meowing coming from?  Do you hear it, because I swear to God there is a cat inside me.

1.  The pond is ours and entirely on our property.  I don’t live in a normal plotted cul de sac, I live in a random road in the country off an even randomer road that is filled with fields and tornadoes.  So, the boundaries aren’t really even or exact.  Plus, it’s hard to see it, but there are saplings along the property line, you just can’t see them from outer space, which is where the picture was shot from.

2.  I like when people fish in our pond, and there are many kids in the neighborhood who do.  They always ask permission.  I always say yes.  The ones that do, that are not old enough to grow armpit hair, come with an adult.  Period.

3.  I don’t have an issue with any of  our other neighbors, in fact, they are completely awesome.  Especially TJ and Heidi (see, totally mentioned you!), who I should technically hate because she can both wear a bikini and sit down in it and still look super hot, and that is sooo not ever gonna be in the cards for me.  But she super nice, and we share a lot of the same hobbies, like ordering pizza and making frozen drinks, so I can’t help but adore her.

4.  I am not sure why the pond is square shaped.  I didn’t dig it.  But, I can already tell you, if I had, it’d be shaped like what ever shape is made when someone scoops out two loads of dirt, gets bored, tosses the shovel down, and goes to find beer and candy.  I think it’s called a rhombus.  I’m not sure.  I’ve never really been awesome with math.

5.  The mini house thing behind my house is a greenhouse.  And, no.  I don’t grow pot in there.  Ahem.

So, after Andy was finished speaking with the neighbor, I watched him walk back across the yard, toward the house, from the big window where I had been stationed, flexing my muscles and rapping what I think were the words to Informer.

Rappers are notoriously tough, and if the neighbor can read lips, I want him to know I meant business.

What did he say?

Who?

Who?!  The neighbor, Andy, Christ!

Oh, he’s sorry.

What?  That’s it, you were over there for, like, 20 minutes, what else was said?

Just that he’s sorry.

Relay the whole conversation to me, what did you say first?

That we were upset.

Could you see me flexing my arms in the window glaring at him, was he nervous?

You know you can’t see into our windows from outside, right?  They are tinted to help with energy costs.

Dammit!  Ok, and so what did he say after you told him we were upset?

I don’t know, I can’t remember, I hate this game.

You know what, it’s not a game, Andy.  This is what husbands do.  They get egged on by their wives to have uncomfortable, slightly confrontational conversations with strangers, so that they can them come back, relay the conversation word for word, and then we can turn around and retell it to our friends, making you sound way more bad ass and like your wiener is way bigger in real life than it actually is.

I don’t make the rules for how the planet works.

So, days go by, and it was kinda nice.  No more looking outside to see very small toddlers teetering on the edge of the water, no one egged our house or held prayer circles on our lawn.

Maybe Andy’s way was working.

Maybe we don’t have to scream, or hit people in the face with chairs, or passive aggressively glare at them from your porch eating sherbet with a butter knife, not to be threatening, but OMG who even knows where the spoons are?

And then on Friday, I ran to the mailbox, because it was Netflix day, and holy hell was I looking forward to The Invention of Lying*, but while the movie wasn’t there, there was a hand written letter, addressed to Andy and “Mrs.” Andy, with the return address being that of our neighbors.

Mrs. Andy?

Do they think Andy made me take his first and last name?   Because I don’t even look like an Andy.  I barely look like a Brittany.

She goes on to say she is sorry for the misunderstanding, but when she came to ask Andy if it was ok for her oldest son to fish one day while I was away in New York, and he said yes, she assumed that it meant that her whole family was allowed to fish, as well as open fishing for her friends and guests should she have any parties.

YES SHE REALLY SAID THAT.

Further more, she hopes that we are not upset with them, as they are not at all upset with us over the whole situation.

Which is a huge relief.

Because I would hate for them to be angry with us over they way they took advantage of our home and pond and opened us up to nine billion lawsuits had anyone drown, gotten hurt, tripped over a rock, or violently raped by a muskrat while on our property.

Plus, someone left two plastic water bottles on the ground near the water, and I watch the Discovery Channel, and that shit can kill animals.  If I wake up to find a dead goose in my yard, and I have to put target bags on my hands to tie patio bricks to it’s little dead goose feet so he sinks to the bottom when I throw him in the pond because SERIOUSLY, I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO WITH DEAD THINGS, I’m gonna be so pissed.

So, it looks like I was right.  Talking rationally to people and giving them the benefit of the doubt does not make them not be assholes.

Andy:  0

Mrs. Andy:  1

*You know when you get a movie, thinking it’s totally gonna be funny, and you start watching it, and it’s kinda rough, and you think, ok, rough start, but it’s gonna be fine, just stick with it, Ricky Gervais is a funny guy.  And then, instead of getting better, it gets really weird and uncomfortable, and almost disturbing?  That happened.  The same thing happened with the Adam Sandler movie, Click.  It was actually so bweird (bad plus weird.  I totally just made that up right now), that I thought that maybe I had fallen asleep and dreamed how the movie played out, only instead of it being a good dream, it was the kind of realistic, bad dream you have when you drink too much or fall asleep watching a Tony Little infomercial.  I always wake up crying and reminding myself I need to make a living will.  God that movie sucked.

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