Earlier this week, I returned from some well deserved R&R and pulled up to ghastly site on the porch of my house. The jack-o-lantern that I had painstakingly carved with my offspring had been left on the porch, because I’m an idiot, and had wilted and rotted. A further review of the scene revealed what appeared to be a mosquito orgy which smelled like a corpse.
As I shoveled the monstrosity into the trash can, I took stock of the exterior of my house. It was not picturesque. The lawn was overgrown, ant-hills littered the yard, and my driveway could definitely use a power-wash. Instinctively, I peered at the house diagonally from mine. Last I’d seen this two-story masterpiece was four days prior, one day removed from a masterful Halloween display.
I squinted my eyes in disbelief; had that son of a bitch already decorated for Thanksgiving? My insides burned with envy.
These neighbors have long staked their claim as the cream of the crop in the neighborhood, and unfortunately for the bitter, jealous human that resides in me, their house is in full view every time I leave mine. My reputation on the block is far from a respectable tenant, as the previously listed outward appearance deficiencies are a common theme. I don’t decorate for holidays, and the only reason I get my garbage can off the street in a reasonable amount of time is because my three-year-old holds me accountable. Yes, I’m human trash.
The perfect residents in question rise to the occasion on a daily basis, and my envy couldn’t be at a higher level. In a neighborhood full of patchy yards this green-thumbed wizard has his patch of land looking like Opening Day at Fenway. Their section of Earth in front of their domain is one of the few in the neighborhood that could be defined as having had some landscaping work done. Most, mine included, come off more as “could be used as a set location in a post-apocalyptic movie.”
And don’t get confused thinking homeboy and homegirl across the street paid someone to do their place up all nice. On groggy Saturday mornings when I’m inhaling coffee trying to figure out where my kid hid my shoes, keys, and sanity, I can see them out the window looking like a perfect small-town Home Depot commercial. Maybe they’re pulling weeds, or planting some zinnias, or even laying a new stone walkway. Whatever they’re doing, it makes me feel like a lazy piece of shit.
I touched on it earlier, but these people kill it on the holidays. They went front yard and back yard for their Halloween display and both dressed up to hand out candy. I carved the aforementioned shitty pumpkin and put out a bowl of candy. Their elaborate Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter decorations are always timely, both when they’re put up and put down. My house has a wreath on it that I figure does enough for all three holidays.
The worst part? They’re so damn nice. They obviously don’t know I’m a bitter curmudgeon because they smile and wave every time I see them outside of their mini-Walt Disney World lookin ass house. Bless them for giving my kid a ton of Halloween candy and even encouraging us to take holiday themed pictures in their yard, but damn do I wish I could be that much of the neighborhood MVP. Of all the lost animals that pop up on the neighborhood Facebook, I swear to God they find at least 75% of them.
Maybe I’m looking at it wrong; maybe they’re simply my neighbor goals. One day, thirty years from now, I’ll look at my residence, manicured to perfection, and find the goodness in my heart to be the neighborly gift that keeps on giving. For now though, I’ll stare through my window shaking my head with envy. I hate em, cuz I ain’t em. .
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