From the day Shannon moved in next door, I knew she would be… unique. First, she painted her house in a series of bright, eye-watering colors: purple, then orange, and finally a blinding shade of blue. But I’ve always believed in the motto “live and let live.”
The real trouble started when she decided her front yard was the perfect spot for sunbathing. The problem? It was directly in front of my 15-year-old son Jake’s bedroom window.
One morning, Jake stormed into the kitchen, his face as red as a tomato.
— “Mom, can you please do something about… that?”

— “About what?” — I asked, confused.
He pointed toward his window. I went up to check, and sure enough, there was Shannon, sprawled across a leopard-print lounge chair, wearing a bikini so tiny it could barely be called clothing.
— “Just keep the curtains closed, sweetheart,” I suggested, trying to stay calm.
— “But I can’t even open the window to get fresh air! Tommy came over to study yesterday, saw her, and completely froze. His mom’s never letting him come back!”
After watching Jake practically live in darkness for a week just to avoid seeing Shannon, I decided it was time to talk to her.
— “Hey, Shannon!” — I called out, trying to keep my voice friendly yet firm.
She lowered her oversized sunglasses and smiled as if she were posing for a magazine cover.
— “Renee! Here to borrow some tanning oil?”
— “Actually, I wanted to talk about your sunbathing spot. It’s right in front of my son Jake’s window, and he’s 15. It’s making him uncomfortable.”
Shannon laughed, as though I had just told her a hilarious joke.
— “Are you seriously trying to tell me where I can get my vitamin D? This is MY yard. If your son has a problem, maybe you should invest in better curtains… or therapy.”
I tried reasoning with her, but it was like talking to a wall. Shannon didn’t care.
Two days later, I stepped outside to pick up the newspaper and froze. Right in the middle of my pristine lawn was an old, dirty toilet with a handwritten sign that read: “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE.”
I knew exactly who had done it. When I confronted her, she grinned smugly and said:
— “You wanted to share your opinion, so I gave you the perfect place to put it!”
I was furious, but I took a deep breath and let it go. People like Shannon are their own worst enemies, and I knew karma wouldn’t take long to come around.
Sure enough, a couple of weeks later, Shannon decided to take her “performance” to a new level. One hot Saturday afternoon, I saw her dragging a leopard-print lounge chair up a ladder onto the roof of her garage. There she was, perched like some sunbathing gargoyle, armed with a reflective tanning sheet and an industrial-sized margarita.
That’s when it happened. Her garage’s faulty irrigation system suddenly kicked in. A jet of water shot straight at Shannon, knocking her off her chair and sending her tumbling into her prized flower bed.
Our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, dropped her gardening shears and burst out laughing:
— “Shannon, sweetie, is that a new kind of mud therapy?”
Shannon stood up, drenched and covered in mud. Her designer bikini was now accessorized with grass stains and a very surprised earthworm.
By the next morning, the toilet had mysteriously disappeared from my lawn, and Shannon had installed a tall privacy fence around her yard. The sunbathing sessions? Permanently canceled.
— “Is it safe now, Mom?” — Jake asked cautiously the next day, peeking through his curtains.
I smiled as I placed a plate of pancakes in front of him.
— “Yes, sweetheart. The show has been canceled… permanently.”
Jake grinned and said:
— “You know, I’m going to miss that toilet. It was starting to feel like a really ugly garden gnome.”
— “Don’t even joke about it!” — I laughed, sharing a warm moment with him as we looked out at Shannon’s newly fenced-in yard.
Moral of the story: Sometimes, the best response to difficult people is patience. Karma always finds a way to act, and poetic justice is always worth the wait.