I am a bad, bad, bad man.  So bad.  Oh yes, I’m bad, I know it.

I am a dripper.  It’s not a personal problem, even if it sounds like it, although it is the current personal problem of choice for she-who-is-not-to-be-named.  Ah, heck, I will say the name, even if I do not have a lightning bolt on my forehead.


When Terese complains, it means she is home and awake.  Water seems to be her greatest enemy.  I would like to tell her that she need not worry, the Wizard of Oz is only fictional.  She will not melt when water comes in contact with her skin.

Maybe I should try tossing a bucket of water on her.

Maybe THAT is why she has a plastic tarp mounted underneath the floor of my balcony.  She is afraid of melting!

A flying monkey landed on my balcony rail last night.  I swear I am not making that up.  It was either a flying monkey or a large dragon fly.

Terese decided to occupy her condo unit either Thursday or Friday.  I can tell when she is about to be home.  Her husband’s gray truck shows up in the guest parking area.  Usually, he comes home a day ahead of time, likely to get her cauldron ready for when she returns.  She has been gone for a few weeks.  How do I know that?  It has been a few weeks since she last complained and whined.  Her complaint of choice right now is water that drips from my balcony to her plastic tarp.  We are not talking about something constant, we are talking about a few drops twice this summer.  I had to leave town early Friday morning and didn’t get back until yesterday, was only home a little bit yesterday.  I heard her cackling out on her patio before I left Friday morning.

This morning, I watered my flowers before I left for work.  It’s part of my daily routine.  There are trays and rubber mats underneath each flower box, trays underneath each pot.  That is required per condo rules.  It makes sense and is a polite thing to do.  Nasty as my downstairs neighbor is, I am not going to pour water on her patio.  When I water my flowers, I have a large watering can that I use.  If I am in a rush, I might slop some water that could drip a few drops through the cracks between the decking.  That happened this morning.  I slopped and seconds later I heard the drip drip drip of water hitting her plastic tarp.  Three drips.

You might think that I had just dumped several buckets of turds over the side of my balcony.  Terese shouted several words and phrases in a loud shriek and in what I assume was Polish, followed by several choruses of SON OF BEETCH.  She has sung that chorus to me several times over the course of the last year.  Undaunted, I finished watering, went back inside to refill the watering can.  I said nothing, did nothing.  Oh, I MIGHT have held the watering can over the railing and let it rain on the grass below, but I MOSTLY did nothing.

When I got a chance to catch my breath at work, I let property management know that my neighbor would likely be filing another formal complaint.  I let them know my email was only for the record, told them I was following condo guidelines for drip trays on balconies, sent the pictures used in this blog.  They did respond, thanked me for providing the pictures so they had ammunition (yes, they used that word) that proves I am following the rules.  The woman who responded also complimented me about my flowers.  🙂

Geez, it is going to be hard to resist buying a super soaker…..