A miracle! A new household pest has been discovered

Introducing Battering Ram Barbie

Hey hun, 

How are you feeling these days? Sleeping well? Any more nightmares? If you’re still having a hard time sleeping, I’d recommend a hefty shot of whiskey before bed. But don’t lean on it too much like your Aunt Shelly did. After a while she couldn’t even string a sentence together.

Well, at least my dreams of the house being invaded by these horrible squawking birds didn’t come true, and sometimes you just have to be grateful for the small things.

I’ve finally heard from Eve. She and Julian are flying out to see their son in a few weeks. Meanwhile, they’re getting right back into the swing of things in Maine, including the regular squabbles. Right now, the issue on hand is whether they should hire a house sitter for the trip or not. 

Julian says he doesn’t see the point in paying someone to hover around the house and (probably) snoop through their things. Eve, on the other hand, is paranoid that without one the house will be burgled, or that squatters will take up residence. She said she’s seen videos about it all over Facebook. I don’t know, I only open a fraction of the links she sends me. 

The compromise is that they’ve roped Trevor into checking in on the house. Eve practically wants him to move in, but I think they’ll have to make do with him getting the mail and helping himself to a coffee on the porch in the morning. 

If he didn’t have guard duty, I might have asked him to come for a visit because I could actually use a little house backup myself. Do you remember my neighbor, Barbie? She was doing that outrageous oyster jewelry scam. I think you told me it was an MLB or an MLM or something. 

But judging by the lack of packages showing up at her door recently, I think she’s moved on from that. Initially, I thought that was a good thing. Oh boy, how naive I was!

You see, now that she’s not prying open rotting oysters live on the internet, she’s got to find something else to occupy her time, and that thing is coming over and harassing me. I’m serious, she won’t be happy until she drives me out of this house! 

For a while now, she’s found this little ways to let me know exactly what she thinks of me and my house keeping, which is not very much. There’s always a snide remark, like about how I must be decorating early for Halloween or sarcastic compliments on my elastic waistbands, or comments about the beer cans in my recycling bin – as if I was a beer-guzzling couch potato! Everyone knows that a few pilsners a week are good for you. It has minerals!

Living across from Barbie hasn’t always been a pain in my ass, just like some people don’t know they have cancer until it hurts to piss. I tell you, someone with as many opinions on unimportant things as her must be just standing at the window all day, biding her time and plotting.

The other day, as I was sitting down for some dinner and a crime documentary there was a BAM BAM BAM at the front door. I opened it and you-know-who was standing there, hand on her hip, finger ready to waggle. Immediately, I knew this would take a while and it was a good thing I had the foresight to bring my beer with me. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with your porch?” She asks, which only made me laugh. 

“Sure, you’re standing on it when I’m supposed to be eating my dinner and watching the TV,” I said. Well, that only made her madder and she nearly started jumping up and down as she pointed at the stairs. 

Sure, it’s ugly as all-hell, and could probably use a few new boards, but it’s serviceable and getting down to the lumber store and digging through the garage for some rusty old tools hasn’t been high on my priority list. 

“The PROBLEM,” she starts yelling, “is that these stairs are not only an eye-sore, but they’re dangerous. If they give out while someone is going up them, they could break their head open and DIE.”

“Well, then I wonder what possessed you to walk up here instead of calling me on the phone,” I said. 

That only launched another tirade, where she pointed out every other defect of my front lawn, including trees that hung over the sidewalk, the numbers on my mailbox were faded, and the grass had grown too raggedy. 

After she’d winded herself, I hoped to wrap things up before I’d have to reheat my dinner, and said, “Ok, Barbie, thanks for pointing it out. Have a good night.”

But before I could turn back inside, she said, “If you don’t get those things fixed pronto, I’m going to have to call the town on you.” 

I couldn’t believe this! Was she that bored, or had a screw fallen loose? I stepped inside, turned around and said, “Go ahead and call them, Barbie, I doubt they could tell my house apart from yours.” Then, I slammed the door in her face. I can’t remember if I’ve ever been so rude as I was at that moment, but what else could I have done? 

I mean, if I wanted to waste more energy arguing with her, I probably would have thrown my beer at her head, and that would have really been a bad turn. Through the front window, I watched her stalk back across the street. 

Like I’d said, her house isn’t exactly cut out of a Martha Stewart magazine. The lawn is full of crabgrass, overgrown here, bald there, and the house could certainly use a fresh coat of paint. But you don’t see me giving a single, solitary crap about it! Let it sink into the swamp for all I care!

Anyway, I finally calmed down and got to enjoy my dinner and the show I watched was about that Papini lady who faked her own abduction to hang out with an ex-boyfriend. For such a pretty lady with what seemed like a nice life, you think she’d have been happy. It’s like once she realized she wasn’t starring in show with a live audience she went about casting herself as victim #1. I just don’t understand someone who would set up such an elaborate game for such a dumb-looking prize. Maybe she and Barbie would get along.

Though, I am starting to wonder if maybe watching so many crime documentaries is affecting my nervous system. I spent the rest of the night worrying that Barbie was going to break into my house, or rip up the porch herself. Of course, the good news is that if Barbie does manage to break in, I’ll smell her coming first. 

You know what? I just realized that maybe my dream did come true and those birds were the horsemen of the worst household pest of all: Battering Ram Barbie!

Have a great week and let’s talk soon. 

Love, 

Grams