Two days later, my camera captured a long garden tool reaching over the top of the fence, lifting the new latch from the outside. Thirty seconds later, Karen waltzed right in.
"You’re unbelievable," I told her over the fence when she finally returned home.
She just folded her arms, completely unbothered. "Your pool sits empty half the week." "That does not make it a public facility." "You’re being dramatic." "I’m telling you, for the last time, not to enter my property." "You already told me." "Then why are we having this conversation again?"
Karen just smiled. She smiled because she genuinely did not believe I would actually do anything about it.
That was the part that bothered me the most. It wasn't just the blatant trespassing; it was the sheer, unadulterated confidence. I was notoriously the rule-following neighbor. I was the guy who worried if my lawnmower was too loud before 9:00 AM. I was the guy who moved his truck because it was blocking someone else’s mailbox by a mere four inches. Karen knew I absolutely despised confrontation, and she had apparently decided that meant my boundaries were entirely optional.
Laura wanted me to call the police immediately. I refused. That was mistake number one.
"I don’t want to start a neighborhood war," I argued. Laura stared at me, exasperated. "She has entered our fenced yard three times." "I know." "She brought strangers into our home." "I know." "She defeated your brand-new gate latch with a gardening tool." "It was technically a pool skimmer," I corrected weakly.
Laura narrowed her eyes. "That exact distinction is why she keeps doing this. You won't put your foot down."