I’ve decided this is the title of my next murder mystery.
I have three books with the editor, two books in the draft stages and another three on the back burner so don’t expect this book until 20..whenever..Truth is when I sit down to write a book, I start with a clear idea of what the story will be then slowly (sometimes too slowly) it morphs into something else. And…wait…I forgot where I was going with this…
So Brenda is situated on this lovely cul de sac, surround by these lovely houses, and it’s all quite lovely.
However, the road to get to Brenda is a bit of a bumpy ride. Pot holes, cracks, and a lot of horse poop. (what’s the rule with horse poop? Do you have to pick up your own horse’s poop when you’re on a ride? Do you carry a garbage bag and a shovel around? I need to look into this)
So the road sucks.
The week after we moved in, the entire neighborhood (about 40 houses) got together to talk about repaving this private road. The Evite promised good food, good people, good discussion.
Jed and I rock, paper, scissored to see who would attend the meeting.
I went to the meeting.
At first, it was lovely. Lots of food, drinks, people mingling. When do you ever have a chance to meet all your neighbors?
Then the horse poop hit the fan.
The “informative” part of the meeting started with the owner of a paving company. He came to explain our options. We could pave over, grind and then pave, or blah blah blah. It’s a road, who flippin’ cares? Just tell me who to write the check to and let me finish my chicken wings in peace.
And let me tell ya, those were good chicken wings. A sweet and tangy sauce dripping off the melt-off-the-bone meat…mmmmmmm
People take road pavement seriously. Too seriously. Life of death seriously.
Within minutes, an older gentleman wearing loafers and no socks started yelling. YELLING. Red faced, shaky voice, he was mad. Why? I don’t know. Every person there agreed the road needed to be paved. But this guy wanted to use petromat(not sure how it’s spelled, don’t care enough to look it up).
Road paver dude says something like, “We don’t use petromat anymore because it’s toxic for the environment.”
Then another woman announces, “I have been doing freeway preparedness manufacturing (that’s a thing?) for twenty years. I know everything there is to know about road pavement.”
When a member of the road paving team asked her if she’d like to join the team, with her being an expert and all, the woman huffed and puffed and rolled her eyes and said, “No! I don’t want any part of this.” Then proceeded to scream and yell for the next hour about how awful the road is.
Two adult men (like sixties) got in to a fight. We’re talking shoves and slaps and punches. And old man brawl.
And then there’s me, standing in the back with my third helping of chicken wings.
So the poor paving guy sits down. Then up comes a lawyer (there’s legalities to paving a road apparently). All he said was, “Hi-” and the crowd went wild.
Not a good wild.
More like a mad, drunken, “I’m going to get you my pretty, and your little dog too” wild.
There was swearing and sweating and drinking and finger pointing…
I slowly shuffled to the buffet table, grabbed a black & white cookie, and then slowly backed towards and exit. As I turned to open the door, loafer dude stands and storms out. Someone goes after him, now these two are fighting in the kitchen. I mean, crap, there’s knives in there.
At this point, I’m fairly certain someone will die.
So I say, “You two are acting like children! It’s a road, get over it.”
They both stared at me, like I just sprouted another head, and then moved their argument to another room.
Long story short, when you come over to meet Brenda, use all-wheel-drive and, oh, watch out for the horse poop.
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