Still Obsessing Over Rubbish Bins

A couple of days ago, we got another missive placed in our mailbox.  (Illegal, btw.)  Another diatribe written on her computer.  I'd like to post the entire content, but it wasn't technically addressed to me.  At least it seems that despite my failing to preface my remarks to her through the magic of Hockey-Fan Voice with "DumbA$$" she managed to get the message I don't want her messing with our, er, stuff.  Meaning our rubbish bins, to use the splendid Englishism.

Effie has outdone herself.  The letter starts with a complaint about the "loud female voice" (thank you, two weeks later) outside her kitchen window (where she likes to watch our comings and goings--our front door is right next to it)  and wanders off into accusations of "ambush" and passive aggression.  She accuses us of acting like teenagers.  So funny.  I need to carry a mirror with me so she can see who's really to blame for her own misery.  She never once mentioned the part in which I also told her in that "loud female voice" to stop staring at us long enough to leave our (stuff) alone.

She goes on to accuse all of our neighbors of having barking dogs and being too ignorant to have heard of Ceasar Millan.  Apparently, she's a cable telly watcher.  Miss Smarty-Pants apparently hasn't balanced her source of truth with Victoria Stilwell or Temple Grandin.  Yup, read 'em, even though I've never owned a dog.  I should mail her my copy of "Animals Make Us Human" in which Grandin directly disagrees with Millan.  Too high-brow a thought?  Maybe.

Best part of all of this:  the letter is copied to the landlords--but only to the wife. The husband is subject to these same accusations, too! 

Time for us to hire a U-Haul truck and let her think we're moving.  We have enough stuff to donate; it would be worth the money. 

No Kindergarten Background, I guess

We can QUANTIFY stupid on this one.

Effie failed to put our trash bin back after she moved it to do Heaven-knows-what this past Monday.  So, of course, I shouted in my most convincing voice.  I'd prefer not to repeat the language here, but suffice it to say, I recommended she spend less time staring at us and more time leaving our (stuff) alone.

For the past couple of evenings, the bin has been in its customary place, but it's been turned 90 degrees in one direction or another each time.  We can add childish to the descriptors for her.

Too Much to Catch Up!

In the nearly-year since I last blogged, "Effie" has done some HILARIOUS things.

• Wanted us to leave a particular PUBLIC STREET parking spot for her.  (And lots of it.)
• Wanted us to leave our porch light on for her use.  (Not accepting that exciting opportunity or that liability, thanks.)
• Gave up on the first parking space she wanted, especially because she realized there's a utility wire directly overhead.  Now she wants the owner of the house next door to have her utility wires moved so birds won't leave "presents" on her van.  (That's what your garage is for, Effie.)

It's too much.  I'm laughing too hard to continue.