A neighbor's desperate plea
Dear Neighbor With the Lovely Landscaping,
You have a yard with grass like spotless green velvet that would induce envy in Martha Stewart.
The flowerbeds are constantly turning over with the seasons, weather, holidays and your flights of fancy.
Every day I drive by, humbled by the blossoms that arch up to the sky in coordinating colors that can lift a troubled man's heart.
You need to cut that shit out.
My "Never Die" azalea bushes drop into a pile of dusty sticks the moment I turn my back.
Hours spent planting bulbs in strategic patterns are wasted, for they end up as snacks for sneaky squirrels.
In the spring the scent of your fresh mulch ripens the air that blows down the street, rolling over my weeds and grey piles of dank bark chips.
All summer I'm barely able to contain the chalk, bikes and bubbles that litter my driveway, yet tidy blooms frame yours.
Each autumn you surpass belief with bundles of rich-hued chrysanthemums, haystacks and merry scarecrows perched on a squeakless porch swing. I still haven't mulched by then.
In the winter your Evergreens are prepped for a chill and holiday lights flicker tastefully around handmade wreaths. I can be found rolling frozen, rotten Halloween pumpkins behind my house before heading to the shop for our Christmas tree.
Birds happily chirp from atop your cutesy signage welcoming guests. Butterflies drink the nectar of perfect buds that prettily pepper your property. Sunshine breaks through the clouds to light your landscaped masterpieces.
Quite frankly, I've had enough. Everything you do is beautiful and amazing and absolutely annoying.
I don't enjoy gardening. I don't get a thrill from planting. I get minimal satisfaction from a well-maintained yard. I can't keep it straight whether annuals are the ones that come back every year, or if it's perennials that do that. But I do the work. I make the effort.
Then you go and raise the bar so damned high I can't even throw a stupid dehydrated crocus bulb over it.
I've got other shit to do than to try and not look like the neighborhood slum dog.
All I'm asking is that you take it down a notch. Or twenty.
Let your front yard get a little run-down looking. You can keep the back as lush and brilliant as you'd like: Install fountains, a koi pond and romantic mini bridge lined with potted roses. I really don't give a shit.
Just give those of us who have to stare at your green-thumbed glory every day until you decide to retire to Florida to raise rare orchids a little break. Lower that bar back down so we can have a fighting chance to stop looking like a group of hobo houses encircling a glittery emerald castle.
And if you do this? We might actually start inviting you to our neighborhood BBQs.
Your Neighbor to the Right With the Dead Azalea Bushes