So I believe I told the Baba Yaga story about the old woman who sold her house for pennies a few years ago, yes?
This ties to the brothel thing, I swear.
Directly across from Baba Yaga’s unit is a home that’s flipped five or six times since we moved in. The last actual owner who lived there was a badass lady from Oklahoma, who told me once that her neighbor (Peeping Peeper) once tried to talk his way into her house to “check” something. She, being a take-no-shit-from-anyone woman, looked him in the eye and advise she’s perfectly safe with her carry permit and .45. Then she shut the door in his face. I wish she still lived there. Unfortunately, she lost her job when the market tanked and had to leave her house to move back to Oklahoma. Various groups of renters have been in her place since then.
In the meantime, Baba Yaga’s house was purchased by a very nice young family with three little girls. In five years I’ve seen the wife once: she advised (very nicely) that her kids couldn’t play with our dogs because they couldn’t let dogs lick the kid’s faces (their religion says dogs are dirty). To each their own, I say, and we’ve been pretty decent neighbors overall (there’s one house between us: the lovely and VERY forgiving Mexican family whose bird was murdered by my overzealous dog).
The same summer the no-dog family moved in, a group of college girls rented out Oklahoma’s house. As typical college girls, they had parties. They had friends coming and going. The whirlwind bitch shared walls with them, and never complained at all so everyone assumed they weren’t bothering anyone, and all was well.
Until I came home from work one day to be stopped by the Baba Yaga’s new owner. He asked if I’m on the board (I was at the time) and “reported” that “those women” are running a brothel in that house, and something needs to be done. His exact words, which I will likely never forget: “I have small girls: I don’t want them exposed to that filth.”
What. The. Fuck.
Nope, I didn’t laugh in his face. I asked what prompted this suspicion. He said “men come and go, stay overnight, and cars are always changing.” Sigh.
I told him it’s extremely unlikely the independent women in that house are running a whorehouse: if they were, likely their wall-sharing neighbors would say something. I reiterated that adult women are allowed to have whomever they like over to their home as long as they don’t impede traffic or cause disturbances: they’d done neither. Then I asked how on earth a baby and two toddlers would have any idea they’d been “exposed” to “those women” unless HE said something to them. He couldn’t really answer that.
To be fair, I was as professional as I could be in my response, no matter what I WANTED to say. I said if he saw actual laws being broken he’d need to call the police, but a house of female roommates with boyfriends is a LONG way from a brothel.
Since then the ladies have moved out (and we’ve had a few different groups living in that house…I suspect because they discover they’re living next to a peeper and run like hell) and the family’s girls are old enough to ride their bikes unsupervised around our driveway. Along with all the other lovely unsupervised spawn who taunt my dogs through my back windows, ride their bikes around blind corners with traffic and apparently create campfires on the hill in the backyard.
I love kids. I wish these had parents who paid some attention, because there’s way worse things than being exposed to independent women in our neighborhood.
4 thoughts on “Townhome Twits: Episode Brothel. Yes, I saved this for last.”
Wow…people are just all shades of fucked up, aren't they?
Oh absolutely…and isn't it both wonderful and horrifying? Then again, without these people as my neighbors I'd be far less entertained.
I love when mediocre parents love to blame and shame everyone around them… Children don't know what brothels are unless you tell them, or they watch Showtime on tv, unsupervised.Yay to independent college women, getting their shit together enough to rent a home.Is it bad I hope one of the girls becomes a successful madame one day? Running a home of Ill Repute. I believe that is what my grandmother called such places, so I'm kicking it old school. Your community sounds like fun!
Wow. I shudder to think how he is raising his little girls.