|
I had a psycho biche live next door to us in Brisbane.
Her kitchen was next to ours and even with the windows closed we couldn't help but hear every word that was said in there. Oooh it would make your hair curl if you had heard what we heard. Her poor husband and kids, to have a mother like that. The swearing, the violence, the broken plates and furniture. And that was if the toilet seat was left up. (fair dinkum, its true)
Her poor dogs used to cop floggings, and when her 16yr old son moved out she sold his bed so he couldn't come back.
After catching her out for telling tales about my family, to (unknown to her) a friend of mine, things went pear shaped.
I came home from work one afternoon to find thumb tacks spread under my clothes line. I don't know if they were for my chooks to eat, or for my kids and myself to walk on.
Our poor dog came in one evening with massive lumpy bruises to her face, our nice elderly neighbour across the road said he had seen her beating it with a stick. She reckons it had bailed her up, our neighbour who saw it says otherwise.
It was at that stage I called the Police in so they could make a report of the incidents, just in case things escalated.
We sold up and moved not long afterwards.
And you know, friends of mine went to the same church as her and only had kind words to say about her. I say, you don't know anyone till you've lived next door to them.
|