So I got clever. Chicken wire under soft soil turned her morning joyride into a crunchy disaster. She called a lawyer; I called a land surveyor. Turns out, she’d been trespassing the whole time. I gathered proof, photos, reports, and mailed it all with a note: “Respect goes both ways.” When that didn’t stop her,
I went nuclear—installed a hidden, motion-activated sprinkler system that blasted her car, face, and pride in one glorious spray. That morning, I sipped coffee behind the curtains and watched as the water soaked her white Lexus and her smug attitude. She stood there, drenched and defeated, finally realizing this lawn wasn’t hers to conquer. She never crossed it again.
