Ode to Willie

My neighbor Willie, that is. Willie, you may recall, lives two doors down and is the best neighbor ever. As I worked in my yard on Saturday, Willie was once again working in the yard of the house between us which has been vacant since the owner passed away last year. Willie noticed some mildew growing on the siding of my house and said, in typical Willie-style, "Girl, you better get that **** mold off your house!" I hadn't even noticed it. "I can pressure wash that for ya, but its gotta be tomorrow 'cause I'm sellin' my **** pressure washer this week. But I figure I still own the **** thing for now, so I'll wash your **** house tomorrow." We agreed on a price and, though I think he wanted to get started at 5:00am, I talked him into 7:00am for the sake of our other neighbors since you can hear a person sneeze in my neighborhood and pressure washers are loud.

By 6:30am I was eating my cereal on my porch swing waiting for Willie. Here he came, dragging the pressure washer, a bucket, a brush, and 5 gallons of bleach from two doors down. After we had the "don't bleach my flowers" talk, he got started. Willie proceeded to wash my house for the next 5 hours, stopping only to sip his Pepsi and take his nerve pill and pain pill around Noon. And after that, he said, "Guess I might as well wash that **** driveway too." So he did. Along with my sidewalk, my stepping stones, the stairs to my basement, and my porch.

Then he fixed my leaky garden hose. And today after work, he is coming over with his pal who knows doors to give me an estimate on replacing my basement door and frame. Willie has instructed me that if his pal's estimate is too high, Willie will silently shake his head to indicate that I should tell the guy I'll wait on the project... and let Willie do it for cheaper.

Nevermind the fact that Willie's doctor has told him to quit doing yardwork and not lift anything more than five pounds.