She had once complained because another neighbor’s Christmas wreath remained on the front door until January 19, calling it "seasonal clutter." I asked whether winter counted as a season. She did not appreciate that. Our relationship went downhill from there.
The first official complaint about my clothesline arrived in April.
HOA NOTICE: VISIBLE HOUSEHOLD MATERIALS MAY DETRACT FROM COMMUNITY APPEARANCE.
I read the sentence twice, then checked the HOA covenants. There was no rule against backyard clotheslines. Our fence was six feet tall; the laundry was barely visible from the street. I emailed the board. The board president, Leonard Price, responded the next day: No violation. Complaint closed.
I assumed that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. Margaret approached me while I was mowing the lawn.
"Some rules don’t need to be written," she said.
I shut off the mower. "Those are usually called opinions."
"It looks cheap."
"What does?"
"Clothes hanging outside."
I stared at her. "My shirts offend you?"
"It lowers the visual standard."
"From your upstairs bedroom window?"
Her face tightened. "This neighborhood has standards."
"So does my washing machine."
I restarted the mower. Margaret stood there another ten seconds before walking away. Rebecca found the whole thing amusing. "Margaret collects resentment like coupons," she laughed. "She can redeem mine for a free towel."
At the time, Margaret was an annoyance. I wish she had stayed one.
The strange things began three weeks later. Our side gate started being left open. Not wide, just unlatched. The first time, I blamed Hannah. She denied it. The second time, I blamed myself. The third time, Rebecca noticed it.