Living next to Brenda and Eileen is like being stuck in a constant mix of dream and anxiety. Ever since they moved in last year, they crowned themselves the “queens” of our cul-de-sac.
It started with passive-aggressive notes left on my car, accusing me of parking “one inch too close” to their flowers. Then came their pointed yard conversations, always with remarks about how “some people” didn’t mow their lawns often enough.
I tried to ignore them, but last week they crossed the line. While I was grabbing my mail, they blocked my way like a two-headed monster. Brenda, the usual spokesperson, declared that the beige color of my house was “lowering property values” and that I had to repaint it in an approved taupe shade by the end of the month.
I laughed. I told them they had no right to order me around. Eileen smirked and replied, “You’ll be receiving an official notice.”
Sure enough, the next day I found a thick envelope taped to my door. Not from any HOA (we don’t even have one). Inside was a laminated page, titled in fancy script: The Sisterhood of Neighborhood Covenants. The listed rules were absurd: mandatory lawn-watering schedules, a ban on decorative flags, and of course, the “approved” paint palette. At the bottom were their signatures, along with this ridiculous line:
“Offenders shall be publicly shamed and lose neighborhood privileges such as invitations to block parties, bake sales, and driveway snow-plowing assistance.”
I laughed again. But it didn’t stop there. The next day, a box of taupe paint samples appeared on my porch. Then came brochures on “color harmony.” Finally, a note tucked into my flowers: “Bad colors = bad neighbors.”
That was the last straw.
I called the county office. A clerk named Marie burst out laughing when she heard about the “Sisterhood,” assuring me no such thing existed. She even gave me a written statement. I taped it right next to their laminated page and added my own note: “Using fake rules is not a neighborhood privilege :)”
After that, Brenda and Eileen vanished for a few days. When they finally reappeared, Eileen showed up with a letter in hand, claiming “defamation.” I calmly replied, “Only if it’s true. But pretending to be legal authorities is another matter.” She left without a word.
Soon, other neighbors began reaching out. It turned out Brenda and Eileen had been harassing everyone: forcing Mrs. Roth to get rid of her garden gnomes, telling the Nguyens their wreath was “culturally inappropriate,” even pressuring the Wades to cut down their maple tree because it “cast ugly shadows.”
So we joined forces. I hosted a “rule-free barbecue.” Neighbors brought flags, gnomes, and enjoyed the full shade of the maple tree. Brenda and Eileen didn’t show up, but they peeked from behind their blinds the whole time.
A few days later, a county official visited their house. We learned they had tried to register the “Sisterhood” as an HOA, using forged signatures from old block party sign-up sheets. They were caught and fined for fraud. Their reputation was ruined, and within weeks, a “For Sale” sign appeared on their lawn.
The house was bought by Marla, a quiet teacher, and her son Jamie. He started sketching under the maple tree, and soon neighbors began commissioning his artwork. Brenda and Eileen had spread fear; Marla and Jamie brought art and joy.
As for me? Yes, I repainted my house. Not taupe—but a warm yellow, like late-afternoon sunshine. And every time I see it, I smile—not out of defiance, but because it finally feels like home.
The lesson?
Often, the loudest people aren’t the ones worth listening to. And sometimes, speaking up when others stay silent doesn’t just change your life—it transforms the whole neighborhood.