The Magazines Revisted

Remember the purge? The magazines I dropped off on the neighbor's porch? Funny story, that.

I've had a feud with the husband in that household for a while now; he runs an alleged handyman business. Let's just say that two or three hundred dollars bought me a hole in the side of my house and a plumbing repair that I had to pay a real plumber to come back and redo. The hole in the side of my house? That's still there. The neighbor (let's call him “Eric” because that's his name) promised repeatedly to come back and fix the hole. But he never did, and I finally told him to forget it. But that doesn't mean I'm not pissed off about it.

So I dropped off the magazines. For his wife. The next morning, I found the following illiterate e-mail in my inbox:

“Rose, I have crossed you off my List per your request, leave us alone your are not Welcomed on our porch, stay away from us you are not our friend or neighbor, your smart enough to get it , leave me and my family alone. Eric”

There's a list?

Never mind the fact that I made no such request. Never mind the fact that we are neighbors, his assertion to the contrary notwithstanding. (I can see his house as I type.)

I wrote him back: “You are an ass.”

Oddly, he didn't answer. I was sort of hoping he would. You know, something like: “And you are a bitch.”

So I could have written back: “Only when properly motivated.”

But he didn't write me back, so he deprived me of the pleasure. Maybe he didn't write me back because he realized that he's illiterate.

Oh, and they kept the magazines.