When my neighbor wouldn’t turn off his bright floodlights at night, my husband and I needed a clever solution to keep the peace.
When the Thompsons moved in next door, they seemed friendly. My wife, Gia, and Susan, the neighbor, quickly bonded while chatting over unpacked boxes. We thought we finally had some neighbors our age to socialize with. Mark, the husband, was often away for work, while Susan stayed home and had a long list of phobias, including fear of the dark, thunderstorms, snakes, clowns, and spiders.
As time passed, Susan’s fear of the dark created an issue that affected Gia and me. Their floodlights, installed soon after they moved in, were excessively bright, like those outside prisons. Gia joked that they could probably be seen from space.
Despite our attempts to address the issue, Susan insisted she needed the lights on for safety when Mark was away. We tried thick curtains and rearranging our bedroom, but nothing helped. After a week of sleepless nights, I approached Susan, asking her to turn off the floodlights after midnight, as they shined directly into our bedroom. She explained her need for safety and refused my suggestion to install a timer.
After several attempts to reason with her and Mark, who felt similarly protective of Susan, we continued to lose sleep. Frustrated, I considered drastic measures, like unscrewing the bulbs or using a pellet gun, but Gia reminded me to stay calm. Instead, she suggested a harmless plan while she and Susan went out for nails.
The next day, I climbed a ladder and slightly unscrewed each bulb to disrupt the connection. That night, when Susan turned on the lights, they flickered and went out. Gia and I finally enjoyed peaceful sleep. Surprisingly, days turned into weeks, and the lights stayed off.
However, one day, I saw Mark fixing the bulbs again. The floodlights blazed back to life that night, and I knew I had to repeat my trick. This cycle continued for months—every time Mark tightened the bulbs, I loosened them.
Then one Saturday, as I trimmed the hedges, Mark approached me. He mentioned his floodlights kept going out, and I managed to keep a straight face while agreeing it might be due to vibrations from the street. I suggested he could leave them off, and he seemed to consider it. After that conversation, Gia and I enjoyed our peaceful, dark evenings once again.
MY HUSBAND LEFT ME WITH KIDS AND ALL THIS HEAVY LUGGAGE TO GET HOME ON MY OWN WHILE HE HUNG OUT WITH FRIENDS – THE LESSON I TAUGHT HIM WAS HARSH.
The roar of the airplane engines faded into the background as I stepped off the plane, two tired toddlers clinging to my legs. I scanned the crowd, expecting to see Tom, my husband, his familiar smile a welcome sight after a long flight. But he wasn’t there.
I called him, my heart sinking with each unanswered ring. Finally, he picked up, his voice casual, almost breezy. “Hey, honey! How was the flight?”
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice tight. “You were supposed to pick us up.”
“Oh, right!” he said, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “Mike called. He’s in town, and we decided to grab a drink. Just for a few hours. You can manage, right?”
“Manage?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Tom, I have two toddlers, a stroller, and three heavy suitcases. I can’t ‘just manage’!”
“Come on, it’s just for a few hours. You can manage,” he replied again, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his voice.
I hung up, my anger a burning ember in my chest. He had abandoned me, his family, for a few hours of drinks with a friend. I felt a surge of resentment, a feeling that had been simmering for years, now boiling over.
The next few hours were a blur of chaos. I struggled to wrangle the kids, their tired whines echoing through the airport. I wrestled the stroller, a monstrous contraption designed to fold with the dexterity of a Rubik’s Cube, and lugged the suitcases, each one a testament to the sheer volume of “essential” items toddlers require.
By the time I finally made it home, I was exhausted, my body aching, my patience frayed. But as I collapsed onto the couch, a plan began to form in my mind. Tom had underestimated me. He had assumed I would simply accept his dismissive attitude, his blatant disregard for my time and effort. He was wrong.
The next day, I woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. I packed a small bag, kissed the kids goodbye, and left a note on the kitchen table.
“Gone to visit a friend. Will be back when I feel like it. You can manage, right?”
I drove to a nearby spa, a place I had always wanted to visit but never had the time or money for. I spent the day indulging in massages, facials, and manicures, reveling in the quiet solitude.
I turned off my phone, ignoring the barrage of calls and texts from Tom. I wanted him to experience what I had experienced: the feeling of being abandoned, of being taken for granted.
The next day, I went shopping, buying myself a new outfit, a pair of designer shoes, and a luxurious handbag. I spent the evening at a fancy restaurant, savoring a delicious meal and a glass of wine.
I returned home late that night, to find Tom pacing the living room, his face etched with worry. The kids were asleep, the house a mess.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Out,” I replied, my voice cool.
“Out? All day? All night?”
“Yes,” I said, “I needed some time to myself.”
“But… but the kids,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You managed,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion and a dawning realization. “You… you did this on purpose.”
“Yes, Tom,” I said, “I did. I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be left alone, to be taken for granted.”
He looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s the problem, Tom,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You didn’t think. You assumed I would always be there, always manage, no matter what.”
He nodded, his eyes filled with remorse. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”
I looked at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. I saw genuine regret, a flicker of understanding.
“Good,” I said. “Because I won’t tolerate it again.”
From that day on, Tom was a changed man. He became more attentive, more considerate, more appreciative of my time and effort. He learned that partnership meant sharing the load, not dumping it all on one person.
And I learned that sometimes, a little bit of payback can go a long way in teaching a valuable lesson.
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