My Whole Street Is Frickin Bananas

So, I’m walking the dogs this morning, doo-doo bags securely in my pocket, when this old hag creeps from her house in her maroon robe, inching slowly toward the driveway. And she is staring at me. Not just regular ol’ staring; no she stops to stare. I yell out a "Good Morning!," but I get nothing but an icy stare in return.

Once at the top of the hill the pups and I change direction and head back toward my house. Once I pass her again, I notice the old lady is now talking to herself while staring at me.

"Good MORNING!," I say again, more loudly this time.

"Don’t let your dogs shit in my yard….(mumble)….mailbox."

Now, I’ve dealt with the psycho neighbors before, so I was prepared for this nutjob.

"What did you say? Excuse me?," I hollered back, insinuating that I couldn’t hear her cowardly ass mumbling under her breath.

"Don’t let your dogs shit in my yard," she said more clearly this time.

"I don’t," I said to her, "I’ve got doggie poop pick-up bags right here. I clean up after my dogs."

"Well, there’s a pile here and here, and some shit over here," she whined.

"You do know that there are dogs in this neighborhood who are not on leashes who roam around who could be responsible," I informed her. "Or those cats over there."

"I’ve called and called and they won’t do nothin’," she complained some more.

"Well, I clean up after my dogs," I told her once again. "But, sorry about your luck!"

Then she said, turning from me, "I used to have dogs and they never shit in the yard."

By this time I’d had enough of her fucking whining. So I yelled back, "Yeah, they quit breeding those magic dogs who never shit about ten years ago. It’s too bad."

Then we went home.

Stupid bitch.