I have to write this down, like, right now. I nearly offered to take a picture as evidence, but that would have just prolonged the crazy.
Doorbell rings. I’m thinking maybe a package, other than that we don’t exactly get the pop-ins in our neighborhood. It’s Crazy Lady’s Daughter, from across the street. The ones who like to scream and such. She’s got a handbag & a small drink from QT, something red, and she is soaked to the skin, like a drowned rat. I thought about ignoring her, because hey, it’s the weekend, it’s been a crazy week, I’m enjoying the Cold Case Files on A&E, playing some Word Whomp on PoGo. But I instead say (through the windowed door), “Can I help you?”
Well. This turns into a fifteen minute conversation (actually more her monologue with me saying something short here and there) about how she was pissed off at the people down the street who have the basset hound, and they have an ATTITUDE and she went to talk to them about how their basset hound chases her cats and THEY TURNED THE HOSE ON HER.
She wanted me to help her. I told her she needed to call the police. She asked if this was assault. I said she needed to call the police. She wanted me to open the door to feel how wet she was, stating as she pulled her tank top out from her stomach “I am not a villain!” I told her I could see clearly she was dripping wet. She wanted me to join forces with her. I told her there wasn’t anything I could personally do, that she needed to call the police and that I didn’t have that kind of power. She then informed me that she was quite powerful. She told me numerous times how my fella sent our big dog out after that basset hound to chase it off the property, and she thought he’d seen her swinging her fist in the air, cheering him on. I could only nod at this point. She said he’d called our big dog back and she’d come right back because our dogs are VERY obedient. I could only nod in agreement, grateful she had revised her opinion from six months ago.
Then the house phone starts ringing. Clicks off. Then my cell starts ringing. This is JWo’s M.O. for reaching me, and all I can think is, “How on earth can I get this woman off my front porch?” I told her again to go call the police, and if they want to interview me, I’ll tell them that she was soaking wet. That they would probably go ask the people down the street what had happened as well, and if they’re on drugs and high as a kite (as she also reported to me), then they would see that and be able to act on it. She finally accepts this and dodders off.
I called James back and said, “You will never in a million years be able to guess why I couldn’t answer the phone.”
I was right. He almost peed his pants laughing. Probably a good thing he wasn’t here, either. (Oh because she wanted to talk to him, too.)
I’ll let you know if KCPD’s finest want to take a statement from me as to how wet my neighbor was. That would be kind of exciting, it would make this a real COPS kinda week here at the house. I hope the rest of the weekend isn’t this nutters, though.
