I had always prided myself on being a good neighbor—polite, friendly, and willing to share. So, when my neighbor, Karen (yes, her real name), asked if she could use my BBQ for a small gathering, I didn’t think twice.
“Of course!” I said, handing over the grill tongs with a smile. “Just clean up when you’re done.”
She assured me she would. But when I stepped outside the next morning, my jaw dropped.
Greasy plates sat stacked on my patio table. Charred meat bits clung to the grill. There was even a half-empty bottle of wine tipped over, its red stain seeping into my outdoor rug.
Annoyed, but still trying to be civil, I knocked on her door.
“Hey, Karen,” I said, forcing a smile. “Looks like some things got left behind after the BBQ. Could you clean it up?”
She blinked at me as if I had just accused her of a crime. “Oh… I thought you’d be fine with it. You have a cleaning service, don’t you?”
I stared. “No. I clean up after myself. And I expect others to do the same when they use my things.”
She sighed dramatically but agreed to take care of it. I walked away, assuming the issue was settled.
I was wrong.
The next morning, I opened my door to find a laminated sheet taped to it. Bold, black letters screamed:
“HOUSEHOLD RULES FOR LIVING IN THIS COMMUNITY.”
I frowned and skimmed the list.
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No loud music after 8 PM.
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Garbage bins must be placed at the curb by 7 AM sharp.
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Outdoor furniture should match the community aesthetic.
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Guests should park only in designated visitor spots.
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No unauthorized BBQ usage after dark.
And at the bottom, in bright red ink:
“FAILURE TO FOLLOW THESE RULES WILL RESULT IN COMMUNITY ACTION.”
I couldn’t believe it. This woman had trashed my patio, and now she had the audacity to dictate how I should live?
I marched over and knocked on her door. She answered with a smug smile.
“Karen, what the hell is this?” I waved the ridiculous rules sheet.
She crossed her arms. “Well, if you’re going to nitpick about little messes, I figured we should all follow some proper guidelines.”
“First of all,” I snapped, “this is MY property. You don’t make rules for MY home.”
She lifted a brow. “Well, if you expect me to follow your ‘clean up after yourself’ rule, then I expect you to follow some basic community standards.”
I laughed. “This isn’t an HOA, Karen. You can’t just make up rules for my house.”
She shrugged. “We’ll see about that.”
At that moment, I realized I had a full-on petty war on my hands.
And I was ready to fight.
