Larry, the HOA president, thought he was in charge. The moment he slapped me with a fine for my lawn being half an inch too long, I knew this was war. After living in this neighborhood for 25 years, raising kids and surviving a husband who thought propane torches were for marshmallows, I wasn’t about to let a clipboard-wielding dictator boss me around.
So, I fought back—HOA-style. Lawn decorations were technically allowed, so I turned my yard into a gnome-filled, flamingo-infested spectacle, complete with solar lights and a motion-activated sprinkler that soaked Larry every time he drove by. The neighbors loved it. Soon, they joined in, filling their lawns with ridiculous decorations.
Larry lost control. His fines became a neighborhood joke, and his authority? Soaked, just like his clipboard.
