Returning from a two-week trip, Victoria came home to a nightmare: her vibrant yellow house, painted by her late husband’s loving hands, had been repainted by her nosy neighbors. Enraged by their audacity, she decided to fight back and teach them a lesson they would never forget.
Hey folks, I’m Victoria, sweet 57… and I’m curious. Imagine pulling into your driveway after a long trip, only to see a completely different house staring back at you. That’s exactly what happened to me recently, and let me tell you, I’m still fuming…
I live on a corner lot. Two years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Davis, a newlywed couple, moved into the house next door. Right from the start, they made snide comments about my bright yellow house.
They would laugh and say, “Whoa! That’s the brightest house we’ve ever seen! Did you paint it yourself?”
“Yup, me and a gallon of sunshine!” I’d say, shutting them up. “What do you think? Should I paint the mailbox next?”
But let me tell you, those two next door wouldn’t stop harassing me about the house color. Every time Mr. Davis walked by, he’d have to crack a joke.
“Bright enough for you, Victoria?!” he’d sneer, nudging his wife, who’d chime in with a cackle like a hyena.
She wasn’t any better. Instead of the jokes, she’d just fix me with this pitying look and say, “Victoria, have you ever thought about changing it? Maybe something more… neutral?”
Like my house was some kind of an eyesore and needed its personality surgically removed.
Their disdain was clear from the beginning. They acted as if my house’s color was a plate of rainbow sprinkles served at a funeral.
One day, Mrs. Davis marched up to me while I was planting petunias. Her smile was about as bright as a rainy Tuesday, and she pointed a manicured finger at my house.
“That color is just an eyesore… it clashes with everything, Victoria! It’s gotta go. How about something like… beige… for a change?” she declared.
Clutching a watering can, I raised an eyebrow.
“Goodness, Mrs. Davis, is that what all the comm
