I harbor a very intense dislike for you.*
(*self edit. To prevent reader suggestions that I need anger management classes)
Of course, on the one day that Mr. KK and I have together to hang outside and enjoy the beautiful weather doing little projects in our yard, you're having a birthday party for one of your bratty kids.
I knew I was in trouble when Vito and I were returning from our morning walk and you were unloading balloons and a cake the size of Rhode Island out of your stupid ugly blue caravan.
And then, you might as well have shoved a pine cone up my ass when you told me about Micah's birthday party that afternoon. And the 29 children that were attending.
So there we were, sawing and hammering and chopping up tree roots trying to build our vegetable garden, and 29 whining children (30 if I count your husband) were staring at us over the fence.
And I don't care how many dirty looks you gave me. Especially when little pieces of tree root flew over the fence as Mr. KK axed it all away. And I didn't feel bad when we ran the buzz saw. Loudly.
Hey, it was my weekend too.
And we had to do something to drown out the misery going on in your yard.