Weekend Column – Pity The Fool
Some new neighbors moved into our subdivision not too long ago.
I say “neighbors,” but I’m not too sure about the neighborly part. It used to be people would drop by with a casserole or, if they weren’t too sure about where they were from, a fruit cake, and check out the new folks.
However, one does not, especially on the first get-together, ridicule another man’s truck.
Obviously, these new folks aren’t from around here. What’s next, kicking my dog or kissing the Little Black Dress?
A little background is in order. You see, I have this rather massive and old (1987 to be exact) Ford F150. It’s the “extended” version. By that I mean there’s a bench in the back. You can fit today’s F150s in my truck bed. It has two gas tanks.
It is affectionately known as The Beast. And it is perfect for hauling landscaping gravel, trips to the dump and loading up scouting gear. I think it gets around four miles to the gallon.
For the last few days, I’ve had it parked on the grass under some trees on the opposite side of my driveway. Now, my house is on a small cul-de-sac. There are only four houses on it. And my house sits way, way back off the street. The only place you can see the truck is from the top of our driveway. You have to look for it. This is important, trust me.
Because The Dress and I got a letter from our new neighbors, who apparently actually live in Atlanta and are known as a management company for subdivisions. The letter, in bold, was titled “Courtesy Letter/Request for Compliance.” We, being the subdivision, apparently can’t take care of our own business so are now paying someone to write nasty-grams on our behalf.
In the letter was the sentence, also in bold: Please remove inoperable vehicle. They then write out the “specific Covenant, By-Law, and/or rule which applies to this matter.” Apparently, I also can’t park on my own grass either.
And they took a photo of my truck and attached it to the letter. For the record, The Beast runs; it has a license tag and registration. They are just asking for trouble.
And like the Ginsu knives commercial, “wait, there’s more.” We got a second letter. The same day.
“Please dispose of rubbish and debris and store at all times out of public view. Please store construction items on front porch out of public view.” And, yep, another photo attached.
So here’s what’s been happening. The LBD and I ripped up the carpets in our master bedroom and were putting in hardwood floors. We were cutting up the old carpet and pads and just throwing them out into the yard.
Um, no. We were putting everything into the back of the freaking truck so we could haul it away. And we were also pulling out some “shabby chic” stuff the LBD had found and was going to “repurpose” for our bedroom. As an aside, The Dress is quite the dumpster diva.
And the construction material up against the house was the hardwood boards we were installing.
And God didn’t create the world in a day and we can’t rip up carpets, move furniture and measure/cut/nail hardwood floors down in a day either. But if I don’t fix everything within 10 days I’m going to get a spanking or maybe have my mugshot in the subdivision newsletter or something.
Anyway, coming by on 10/21/2015 at 1:44 p.m. to take pictures and make fun of my truck does not sit too well with me.
But it’s not me the little management company is going to have to worry about. The Dress didn’t get as upset about the truck as I did. But when they called her shabby chic stuff “rubbish,” I, as Mr. T. would say, “pity the fool.”
Until next time.