A few months ago, Hot Naybor Chris’s wife became fed up with her inability to back down into the driveway without driving into the grass, side-swiping pedestrians, and having to occasionally move her turkey neck a fraction of an inch to look around cars parked along the curb. So she did what anyone else would do – threw a fit and had Hot Naybor Chris call the city for them to send workers to paint yellow lines on the curb around the entrance to the driveway, ensuring no one would have the nerve to park too close, thereby impairing her chances of properly swinging her HUGE! GIGANTIC! Hyundai from the road to the driveway.
I remember coming home that day and seeing some City workers in front of the house, painting yellow lines. Here, I thought it was for something important, marking a water line or something, not a fucking house call.
One day, Henry had the audacity to park on the street, a little too close to the yellow line, rendering it IMPOSSIBLE for Ruth to leave! Hot Naybor Chris donned his suit of armor and jogged over to ask Henry to please back up. “M’lady is trying to pull out of the driveway, and your carriage is not allowing her ample room,” he explained, while his fat-bottomed queen huffed past in her gilded sedan. Henry grumbled about this for awhile. “If she seriously can’t pull out of the driveway because of where my car was parked, then she shouldn’t be driving at all,” he said.
Last night after I came home from work, a cop was outside of the house. Henry, who springs a hard-on every time a man in uniform is within a two-mile radius, ran to the door to inspect. He heard the dispatch say “maroon SUV” and knew they must have been here for our mysterious next door neighbors, the matriarch of which Ruth has engaged in several imbroglios.
Then the cop knocked on our door and Henry was so excited to point next door when the cop asked who owned the SUV. I’m surprised his arms didn’t pretzel in all his excitement to point perfectly to the left. Yay, Henry helped a COP! Rejoice!
A few minutes later, our neighbor left her house and moved her SUV.
She was parked over top of the yellow line. That bitch! She must be racist against people who think they drive big rigs.
Now, Ruth had just come home prior to the cop arriving. I’m sure it was an enormous struggle for her to pull into the standard-sized lip of the driveway. All the millions of other people who do this successfully every day must be MAGIC, Ruth. It’s not you, it’s THEM.
Anyway, oh my god, who called the cops? DO THE MATH.
I can guarantee that Ruth has been waiting for the moment she could call the cops on our neighbor for parking over the yellow line. Waiting with steepled fingers! I wonder what it’s like to have nothing better to do than to sit around causing a ruckus over someone who’s a good half foot away from blocking your driveway.
The most awesome part is that I get to live smack in the middle of these two feuding broads, one of whom keeps some questionable company that I know I sure wouldn’t want to fuck with. They’ve already had one huge blowout in my front yard (everything always happens in my front yard) awhile ago. It sounded like two feral cats mewling at each other.
Perhaps Ruth should just forgo driveway parking and utilize the lot across the street.