I’ve played nice. I’ve done nice things . I’m over it. This was on my doorstep this evening. Really?
Since I moved in, there has not been a week that weasel hasn’t made commentary. Frankly on things that are not his business. Dog visits while family is at funeral he remarks on county kennel laws. We don’t have them FYI.
Friends visit, he complains about cars on street yet his son parked there a whole year. Now across the street we have had a lot of activity lately, cars on street, kids in his yard. He won’t say anything there, because boyfriend is 12feet taller than runt rat man.
I don’t put the big trash canisters in my garage. In summer in Georgia that’s the fastest way to a house infested with flies. It’s yuck. According to our HOA we are permitted and requested to put our trash out back , not visible in side or street view. This is what I do. I use bio bags for the trash I have and place my recycling in cardboard boxes. Which are rinsed pre boxing as per center’s requests.
Wednesday trash goes out. It’s that simple. But I get this tonight. Why not come up and ask, why not see if its trash or recycle? Oh because then you would have to talk to me. That you can’t do because you’re a giant vagina in a little Peter Pan version of a man. I see. Guess what Pan, it’s not changing.