“Why is mommy’s phone in the fridge?” “So Amy can’t find it.” “No fair! You got to bury the dead bird, so I should get to bury the mole.” “Why aren’t you wearing underpants?” “They take too long to put on.” “What happened to your library book?” “Somebody ate it.” “Don’t make me sell you…
I’m a bad person who likes to whine about my neighbors to the faceless Internet. I’m not talking about the pot farmers who are there now or the “house is haunted” people before them, but the ones we called a cross between grifters and gypsies. The ones I complained about here and here and here.…
If I joked about selling Sarah, the police would be knocking on my door. If I teased about giving her to the Gypsies, the PC patrol would slam me down and beat me with a club. I think I may start renting her out as birth control.
“Dad, you need to sell our car to the gypsies cause it’s broken.” I’m thinking I should say that expression less.Â
“I’m calling the gypsies to come get Evan.”