Yeah, This IS Your Mother's Day Gift

Hey, you know, I didn't ask to be born.

So, due to a lack of sufficient funds to purchase my Mother the extraordinary Mother's Day gift that she so richly deserves, I've opted instead to post a story culled from the annals of my Infidel memory(Notice the double NN's. Sicko. I know what you were thinking) to share with the World. This tale is in tribute to her and her profound cattiness. I love you Mom!

When we moved to Houston in the 1980's, my family purchased a new home in a tract subdivision. You know one of those places where you can give a physical description of your house to somebody and it matches identically about 100 others in the same neighborhood. Whoever said, "Building fences makes good neighbors", didn't live two houses away from "Gladys". I'm calling her Gladys because she makes the nosy neighbor on "Bewitched" look saintly by comparison.

Every locale that you take up residence in has to have a raging drunk built into it as well as the perpetual busybody. It's an unwritten law of nature. Gladys could multi task. She was both a drunk and a nosy old fart. Gladys belonged to the neighborhood home management association and elected herself Queen of deed restriction enforcement. All day long she'd wander the neighborhood with her pink hair curlers perched on top of her gray head and cut off, frayed denim short shorts, even though she had to be at least 60. The best was the ever present lit cigarette dangling out of her mouth and the way she'd talk to you really close in her gasping frog voice and blow the smoke in your face. Man, I LOVE people like that!

Gladys kept a little notebook. We came to know it as "The Big Book Of Deed Restriction Sins". Ever watchful with her beady little black eyes, poised to record and capture any violation she deemed unsightly or not in compliance with the commandments of the Home Owners Association. We constantly got pissy letters about trivial matters like our mailbox being open all day, or the trash can left at the curb for too long. As a collective, we the people were sick to death of her and her meddling.

Gladys had a penchant for writing up and reporting people for neglecting to have their animals on leashes or if they were loose in the yard. Typical of drunken asshats though she was hypocrisy personified. My Mom got so sick of her stupid black and white cat, Muffett, digging up our flowerbeds to take a dump. Even when she yelled at the cat and talked to Gladys she refused to keep her kitty on her own property or give Muffett a collar and registration as mandated by the HOA manifesto. The final straw came when Gladys drunkenly barged into our gated and fenced backyard. My Mom, brushing her teeth, felt the eerie sensation of being watched. As she turned around their was Gladys crouched and looking into the master bathroom. My Mother started screaming and Gladys hurriedly left. Her husband persuaded us not to call the Police and promised to keep an eye on his wife. I knew that wouldn't sate the devious streak in my Mom. Sure enough she turned to me and said through gritted teeth, "Tomorrow, we strike"!

The next day, my mission orders in hand, I set out in search of Muffett. I didn't have to look far as Muffett was enjoying a mid morning crap in our marigolds. Being a burly 10 year old, I single handedly captured my squirming, meowing prey and headed into the house to show off the fruits of the hunt. Mom sprung into action and penned a lovely little note bedecked with rainbow and flower stickers, which she attached to a flea collar and then while I was holding the by now panicked and yowling feline she slipped the collar around her neck. I was bleeding profusely from the deep scratches inflicted by Muffett on my arms and stomach but I still couldn't stop laughing. We then released the cat back into the wild and waited.

It didn't take long as Gladys came knocking the next day letter in hand and furious. She demanded to know if my Mom was the anonymous poet to which she looked Gladys straight into the eyes and innocently said, "Oh my, that's so cruel. I don't know what kind of sick person would do that to a poor animal". Satisfied, Gladys moved on to harass and interrogate everybody on our street. Given prior events, everybody knew it was us but didn't rat us out to the enemy because the rest of our neighbors thought it was funny. Especially when they read the note that Gladys waved around at them.

If You Loved Me, You'd Follow The Deed Restrictions And Keep Me Inside Where I Belong, You Selfish Harpie.

Classic. We never had trouble with Muffett in our yard again. Gladys continued being a nuisance though.

I'm sad to report that I saw the obituary for Gladys in the newspaper a few years ago. Somewhere that old bag is in a stupor writing in her little notebook. I have a pretty good idea where but my Christian faith precludes me from passing judgment.