Given the right circumstances, I might just drop kick an old woman.

I had just sat down in my comfy chair with a large bowl of steaming chili (those of you who know me know I like to have my food extra-piping hot, at scalding level) when I spied movement from outside the window.

Mary. The dog walker. Was back.

Risking the flesh on my thighs, I quickly tossed my bowl on the end table, leaped across the living room furniture and frantically grabbed my camera.

What is with this woman's fascination with our yard? I get that it's the least manicured lot on the block but our house hardly looks vacant. Plus, I've told her before to keep off our yard. To her face. So she knows we live there. Unless she suffers from memory loss.

I ran to the front of the house and down the front steps, ignoring the fact it was noon and I was still sporting my baby blue pajama pants that had glow-in-the-dark kittens printed on them.

I don't know if you can tell how into our yard she actually is. I should really take a photo from the side. In this photo I'm at the front corner of the house waiting. Watching. Wondering when she'll notice me.

But she changed things up on me by starting to walk back down towards the road. So, I called her name.

Hey, Mary, I quipped, perhaps a tad louder and snarkier than a normal greeting.

And she turned. And said hi back. As if we were friends. Look she thinks we're friends.

No, really. The woman who walks her stinky dog in my yard day after day after day even though I've asked her three thousand times to stop, thinks we are friends.

But we're not, Mary. We are not friends.


Hey, Mary. Um. Why are you walking your dog in my yard?

"I'll bring him to the street."

Great. But that doesn't answer my question. Why are you walking your dog in my yard?

"I said I'll bring him to the street."

Right. But you still keep walking your dog in my yard. And I've asked you not to. Many times. To me, that's very disrespectful of you and I would just like to know why you keep doing it.

And, as God is my witness, the woman looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and said, "I don't know; habit?"

I couldn't quite remember what the punishment was for drop-kicking an old woman and booting her rickety dog out of my yard but I was pretty sure the fines and lawyers fees would seriously deplete my Fiji Vacation Fund, so instead I said well you're just going to have to find another habit. I've talked to the police and if they find you in my yard again they're giving you a ticket for trespassing. That's why I'm taking pictures. For proof.

And then I took one more for good measure. Because I'm mature like that.

Something tells me Mary doesn't think we're friends anymore.