After months of enduring my frustrating neighbor, I booked a solo cruise to finally get some peace. But as I was settling in, I heard a voice from the corridor, calling out, “Howdy, neighbor.” Little did I know, that trip would turn into a chaotic, unforgettable journey.
I stood by the window, my eyes drifted over my garden, and a wave of pride washed over me.
It had taken me months of hard work, but now the flowers were in full bloom, the bushes neatly trimmed, and the hedges perfectly shaped.
But then something caught my eye. A flash of yellow, bright and out of place.
A flower I didn’t plant, standing in the middle of my flower bed, crooked and awkward, disrupting the flow of everything else.
I stared at it for a moment, my frustration growing.
It was planted all wrong, leaning to one side as though someone had just shoved it there.
Someone had been messing with my garden.
Without thinking, I threw open the door and stormed outside. I marched toward the flower bed, my eyes fixed on the intruder.
I knew exactly who was behind this. Only one person could be this inconsiderate.
He appeared at the fence almost immediately, looking casual as ever, a slight grin tugging at his lips.
“Do you like it?” he asked, tilting his head and gesturing to the crooked flower.
“Why do you always have to mess with everything I do?
What did I ever do to you?”
He blinked, looking confused.
“It’s a nice flower, isn’t it?”
“You’ve ruined my garden! You’ve trampled all the other plants, and you planted this thing crooked on purpose! I know you did this just to annoy me!”
“I thought you’d like another flower in your garden.”
“Stop lying to me!
You’ve been doing this kind of stuff ever since I moved in!
First, you flooded my garden, then you tried to fix my stairs and broke them, and don’t get me started on when you shut off the power! You’ve made my life a nightmare!”
“I’m just trying to help.
I always mean well.”
“That’s a lie! If you really meant well, you wouldn’t keep doing things like this!” I yelled.
He sighed and turned to walk back inside his house, but then, almost as an afterthought, he returned with a plate of cookies in his hands.
“Here,” he said, handing them to me.
“I baked them myself.
I’m sorry, okay?”
“What, did you put poison in them?”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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