Remember that annoying game we used to play as kids, the one that made us laugh like maniacs as we ran to someone’s door, rang the bell, then raced off before they could answer? How we’d hide behind shrubs or someone’s car and watch as our victim stood at their doorstep glancing left and right, trying to figure out whether they’d really heard the doorbell ring or just imagined it? And how, crouching in wait, we’d snicker gleefully as we watched them shake their heads, go back inside, all the while knowing we’d do it again sometime soon?

I just played that trick on my neighbors. The crazy ones. The ones who wake me up each and every morning when the lady with the hair as big as her voice shouts to her kids to hurry up and get in the damn car. Now.

It’s not as awful as it sounds. I left them something for their effort. See I foolishly planted three zucchini plants in my garden and, thanks to an early warm-up this spring, they’ve been producing bumper crops. I’m talking nine, sometimes ten zucchini each week. And we’re already sick of eating it.

So this morning, before even my crazy neighbor had tottered on her stilettos out to her car and begun her morning routine of yelling at her kids, I woke up and gathered today’s harvest. My garden is out of sight from their home, so I didn’t even bother changing out of my pajamas. I grabbed the five zucchini that had filled out since Monday and snuck to my neighbor’s front porch where I left them in a nice, neat pile. Then I rang the doorbell and ran.

Being already clad in her stilettos and tight miniskirt for the day, my neighbor took her sweet time getting to her front door. By then I’d raced inside and closed my own door then peeked through the blinds to watch. She came out, hair swinging, looked left and right and saw no one. Of course. Then she click-clacked her way down the drive and stood, hands on ledge-like hips, staring in confusion while trying to figure out who’d been at her door.

She didn’t notice the zucchini until she’d given up searching and had started back into her house. Maybe she’s used to stepping over crap to get from one place to the other, I figure. Judging by the pile of junk under their deck, I’m guessing her three kids manage to strew plenty of things around inside that require her to navigate over or around them.

But there was no ignoring the pile of zucchini when she finally made it back to her door. One of the things was half the length of a Louisville Slugger — my fault, I believe, for having fertilized a bit too heavily last week. By the time she’d gathered them up, her kids had come out to see what was going on, what could possibly have disturbed their morning routine of being yelled at. Their eyes fell on the pile of zucchini in her arms and their faces all grew quite solemn.

“Mom,” I heard the youngest one say, “you aren’t going to actually make us eat that, are you?”

She nodded, handed off the pile of zucchini to her oldest, and leaned in the door to grab her purse. For once — for once — she managed to get her kids in the car without yelling at them, without raising her voice in the least bit. I do believe the thought of having to eat the zucchini had cowed them into submission.

My work here, at least for the day, is done.

Friday, July 13th, 2007, 10:07 am   |   My Venomous Life  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.