Little Pluggers

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"Goddamn little perverts!" Jeannie cried, hurling her tin of clothespins at the fleeing boys. It bounced off the leg of the youngest, who was trailing the pack, but the effort garnered nothing but a brief "ow!" for her troubles. Little bugger didn't even stumble, and all four children easily made their giggling escape. The fluttering bit of blue cloth in the grasp of the eldest was all too recognizable.

Jeannie sighed loudly, casting a jaundiced eye in the direction of the Martin house next door. All four of their boys were utter hellspawn, pure and simple. This was the second time this month that one of her bras had gone missing from her backyard clothesline, and even though she hadn't caught them at it till just now, she'd still known well enough who the little culprits were. Filthy monsters. Didn't they have an older sister to spy on?

Grumbling, Jeannie bent to pick up the basket of fresh laundry she'd dropped when she saw the boys at her clothesline, grateful at least that none of it had tumbled out to the ground. Then she remembered that the clothespins were still over by the hedge where she'd managed to peg one of the Martin spawn.

"And I'll do worse than that if I catch him again," she muttered as she began gathering up scattered clothespins. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned thirty-fifth-trimester abortion to brighten up the day."


I figure since I already did this from the one angle, I'd go ahead and try it from the other.

Damned little perverted children. Brookins and/or Fulcher, you are a filthy, filthy man and/or men.

December

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Gina settled herself between the covers, let out a deep breath, and turned out the light.

The room did not noticeably dim.

With an annoyed grunt, she rolled over to face away from the window. That didn't help much, though; the opposite wall just bounced the light back at her, red and blue and green and yellow blinking and twinkling in crazed randomness. Closing the window blinds didn't seem to do anything besides diffuse the colored patterns.

For a few moments Gina lay in bed, eyes tightly closed, trying to convince herself that she couldn't still see the lights anyway. Finally she sat up again. A small growl of irritation issued from her throat.

"Goddamn neighbors..." she muttered, rising and stalking across the room to the window. Lifting a slat on the blinds, she glared out at the lightshow currently decorating the house next door. She had a feeling she knew why she had gotten the house so cheap last January, and why the last residents had themselves not stayed long. How could anyone possibly need that many Christmas decorations?

With a sigh she turned from the window. It was easy enough to be furious about it now, and to promise herself that she'd do something about it tomorrow. But then tomorrow it would again seem not that important, especially given that the offending gentleman next door was good friends with the local police, and she would no doubt not bother yet again. That was, after all, why tonight was the fourth night in a row she'd be spending on the couch. And counting.

Gina indulged herself enough to shake a fist in the direction of the window, then lugged her pillow and blanket from the room.

Good News

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Rachel glanced out the window at the gathering forming on the neighbors' porch. Women, mostly, the various aunts and mothers and sisters that made up the Ogden clan. At the center of the roiling little storm was Chelsea Ogden, the lady of the house, holding in her arms the actual reason for all this hubbub.

With a sigh, Rachel turned back to the table. "You'd think they'd never seen a baby before," she said wryly. "Certainly they didn't all come over when Chelsea's husband got that novel published, and that seems rather more of an accomplishment than just reproducing."

Lucy raised an eyebrow over the rim of her coffee mug. "Mmm. Well, to a certain sort, havin' a baby is about the highest calling one could ever hope to answer to."

"And it's not even like it's something new," Rachel grumbled, sitting back down again and drawing her own mug closer. "Congratulations! You know how to do something that billions of people have figured out before you! Now we will shower you with gifts and give you the best parking spaces at the grocery store." She took a sip of coffee, then continued. "Honestly! Some guy gets his legs blown off in Iraq, he comes home and wants to go to the grocery store, he has to park farther away than the slut who couldn't figure out birth control!"

Lucy grinned slyly. "The thing to keep in mind about that is, you don't have to have a special license plate to say you're expectin'." She coughed. "If you know what I mean."

"Don't let any of the Ogdens hear you talking that way. You'd never make it out alive."

"Oh, it's not me that has to watch what she says," Lucy replied, eyes sparkling with malicious glee. "If Chelsea ever catches up to me and asks me to coo over her little wormbaby, I may just throw them both out a window."

Neighbors

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I'm currently (04/14/2010) looking for the image to this one -- it was something about how neighbors bake extra bread to give to each other or whatever. I don't remember anymore. Stay tuned for possible future pictoral update!

"Well, she is a bit off, isn't she?" Tammy said casually, leaning against the fence.

"I guess." Diane looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I mean, you're her neighbor, not me, so maybe you'd know better; only she seems an all right sort to me. A little quiet, maybe."

Tammy held up one finger. "And it's always the quiet ones," she said meaningfully.

"Er. That do what?"

"Don't know." Tammy shrugged. "That's the problem, you don't know until it's too late. If you even notice the warning signs at all."

"Oh." Diane nodded, hoping she would appear to know more about their conversation than she actually did.

"You know, she brought over bread yesterday?"

"Ah."

Tammy's eyes narrowed, and she nodded, more firmly than Diane had. "Said she'd baked three loaves of it fresh, and wanted to share with the neighbors. She probably took a loaf over to Jim and Mary too, over on the other side of her property."

"Erm. Who would have thought, eh?"

"Exactly!" Tammy smiled widely. "I knew you'd understand."

"I mean, bread and all," Diane added helpfully.

Winterize

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"Charlie, look!" Meg exclaimed. "The neighbor is moving our sprinkler to his side of the property line, again!"

Charlie grunted a noncommittal answer, not looking up from the television. After a moment the screen went dark, and he turned around in time to see his wife put the remote back on the end table.

"Didn't you talk to him about this?" she asked impatiently. "He can pay for his own water if he wants. We shouldn't have to put up with him stealing ours."

"Winter weather's just about set in," Charlie replied mildly; "in another week or two, there won't be any point in watering the lawn anymore, and then you won't have to worry."

Meg grimaced. "That's not the point, and you know it. Next spring he'll just be back to the same old trick, won't he -- not that you even care, apparently -- "

"Meg." Charlie's voice was still gentle, but firmer now. "The man's had a rough life, and it's ten bucks worth of water. We can afford it even if he can't." He moved to the other end of the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV back on, more or less ending the conversation.