Yesterday, I stole flowers from the neighbor's yard. Her name is Linda, and she doesn't actually live there anymore, but lives in Alaska (where she moved to live with her something like 7th husband) and still owns the house. She was always really mean to me--maybe it's because she confused me with the woman who lived here before that wandered naked out the door on numerous occasions, yelling at her boyfriend every step of the way. Maybe Linda confused me with the Iranian man who assaulted the prostitute and who she had to call the cops on. At any rate, I feel no guilt at attempting to commandeer some of her roses for my desk.
I tried to steal some a few weeks ago, but my neighbor Vinnie, the skinny man who resembles Ichabod Crane, and who fancies himself the neighborhood-watch, strolled over for a chat. I hid the clippers in my back pocket and made as if I was only leaning over the fence to sniff the roses.
I clipped four roses, all varying colors of fuschia. I saw some aphids on them, so I took them over to the hose to wash them off before I took them inside. After drowning the aphids out, I almost took them inside, until lots of earwigs started to emerge. The clipped roses went straight into the compost. Lesson learned.
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