This story is a little different from stuff I usually write. But it is a true story, sadly. Give me a little grace here, folks. 🙂 We eventually worked things out, and I ran into her and her husband a couple years ago. We smiled and talked as if nothing bad ever happened between us. Forgiveness. This is just from my perspective of how I felt and what happened at the time. It is meant to be a funny, tongue-in-cheek sort of piece. Have a great day!

The Neighbor From Hell

Hell on earth. That was my life. It wasn’t a place. She stood about five feet, one inch, had thick bleached blonde hair, a smoker’s voice that could be heard five houses away, and everything on her jiggled when she stomped around outside. She lived next door to me.

The witch – that was my nickname for her. I knew her from church of all places. Thank God she quit going to mine. One of my prayers was answered at least.

Her husband was a skinny wimp who talked in a nasally voice. He was always coughing from his cigarettes – the cigarettes I could smell at my house whenever they were outside. Every time I opened my windows to get some cool air at night, my nostrils were blasted with nicotene. I gagged. I got along fine with him; it was just my misfortune that he was married to her.

The first summer they lived here, they had their daughter and grandchildren living with them, the two little demon boys. One of them came over and bit my son on the stomach for no reason. Come to think of it that was the last day I ever saw my son go shirtless.

My kids hated their grandkids even though we had taught them that it isn’t nice to hate people. I guess I still had a lot to learn. This “love your neighbor” stuff is tough!

When they first moved in, I thought it would be fun to have people here that we knew outside of my husband’s job. We live where he works. Her husband was hired to work here, too. I introduced her to our other neighbors. I told her if she ever ran out of anything and couldn’t get to the store that day, she could come over and borrow what she needed. We live almost an hour’s drive from town. I stood outside in the yard and chatted with her many mornings. After a while I began to see how I was being used. “Borrow” became her middle name. I began to see where being nice had landed me – in hell!

So what did I do? We had words one day. They weren’t nice words. I had been leaving her alone for the most part. I had begun telling her “no” when she came to borrow things. I became unsociable which at the time was not like me at all. So what happened next threw me completely off guard.

I was out in my front yard in the morning. I honestly don’t remember what I was doing at the time, probably bird-watching. Stomp, stomp, stomp….oh my, here she came. She wanted to know why my kids were not playing with her grandkids any more. Hmmm…..does biting come to mind, I thought? I simply stated that my kids didn’t like them. Her grandkids were constantly picking fights even though they were younger than my kids. In the midst of this exchange I accidentally referred to them as “your boys,” which she quickly corrected saying they were her grandkids! She yelled “grandkids” emphatically. When I say she yelled, I mean her mouth was open so wide that I saw her uvula was about to burst. Her voice was so loud my hair flew back behind my ears. Funny, she sure acted like their mother. She did everything for them while her daughter sat in the house and watched soap operas claiming she couldn’t find a job. She changed the little one’s diapers, she fed them, she washed their clothes; you name it, she did it for her boys, even though she thought they weren’t her boys.

I had finally had enough of her ungratefulness. I couldn’t hold my anger in any longer. I told her that those boys were little brats. They constantly bugged my kids to play with them only to turn around and treat them like shit. I said I didn’t want my kids playing with them, but they had already decided not to any more anyway. I told her all she did was use me for everything she ran out of. I didn’t mind lending her something now and then, but she never offered to pay anything back. I told her I was sick of smelling her stinky cigarettes polluting the fresh air. Hell, we lived in the country where there still was such a thing as fresh air! Then she hit me with the zinger of all zingers – “well, you sure don’t act very Christian for being a Christian!” I said, “I haven’t been anything except neighborly to you. You’re the one who doesn’t act like a Christian, because you probably aren’t one! You have your own little “church” in your house! You can’t even get along with other Christians in a real church!”

I hadn’t wanted to hit someone in years since I had actually shoved a girl at a gas station years before I was a Christian who had struck my girlfriend and made her drop all our groceries. I really wanted to hit her which was my signal that this exchange had to end. However, as soon as I made my last accusation to her, she shoved me. I shoved her back! Her mouth dropped open as she stumbled backwards and almost fell on her ass. That may have made me laugh. Instead, I simply walked away expecting the monkey to jump on my back. She never did. She just yelled more things as I walked away feeling sorely tempted to giver her the finger. I came really, really close. I was already too shaken, though, by all that I had already said. So I kept walking across the lawn, up the front porch steps, into the house, slamming the door behind me.

After I ranted and raved out loud to no one in particular, I sat down…and cried. I cried hard. I hadn’t had a fight with anyone like that in so long, it took me back to my first marriage which was full of yelling, screaming, and physical contact. I didn’t like who I was letting myself become. So what did I do?

I grabbed my journal and began to write down the whole exchange. It’s probably still around here somewhere, but I’m too lazy to look for it. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. Or not. It doesn’t matter to me. All I know is that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it!