When my snooty neighbor’s son shattered my window with a baseball, I expected an apology and compensation. Instead, they refused to pay and even threatened me. But fate had a surprise in store!
I’m Angela, 36, a single mom to my spirited daughter Penny (6) and fur-mom to Pancy the poodle and Bella the cat. We live in a cozy cottage at the end of Maple Street, where every family portrait would make Norman Rockwell weep—except for our neighbor, Baron Bigshot.
Baron Bigshot, with his scowl and luxury car, epitomizes entitlement. His 15-year-old son discovered baseball, turning our neighborhood into a minefield of flying balls. I’d seen Mrs. Franklin get shocked while gardening and Mr. Johnson knocked out while reading. Yet, I stubbornly refused to board up my windows.
Then, one fateful Saturday, as I prepped lunch, it happened. A baseball crashed through the window, nearly hitting Penny. I marched outside, baseball in hand. “Your son’s ball broke my window!” I shouted at Baron.
“Proof?” he replied dismissively. I pointed to the pie filling on the ball. He waved me off, chuckling about repair costs, and threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave.
Furious, I returned home, cleaning up glass while his party noise filled the air. Just as I was closing the curtains, I noticed something odd: a group of young men in masks marching up his lawn, footballs in hand.
Suddenly, they unleashed a hailstorm of footballs on his party. Guests screamed, and Baron stood frozen, looking horrified. As quickly as it began, the chaos ended, and the football players jogged away.
Moments later, Mrs. Stewart knocked at my door, barely able to contain her glee. “Did you see that? My nephew’s team owed me a favor!” I burst into laughter, tears streaming down my face.
The next morning, I enjoyed my coffee when Baron banged on my door, furious and in pajamas. “You did this!” he sputtered.
“Did what?” I replied, sipping my coffee.
He fumbled for words, realizing his own accusations against me. “Sometimes life teaches us lessons, Mr. Worthington,” I said calmly.
His face turned purple as he stormed off. I called after him, “Consider investing in some wooden planks for your windows!”
I closed the door, grinning. Penny looked up, curious. “Mommy, why was that man yelling?”
“Oh, sweetie. He just learned a very important lesson about being a good neighbor.”
And there you have it! Sometimes karma works in mysterious ways. Have you ever had a neighbor from hell? Share your stories in the comments!
