A confrontation with a neighbor

Lisa tried to run home but collapsed in pain -- running without a bra hurt like a son of a bitch when you were stacked. "What the fuck was I thinking?" Lisa moaned. "Dressing sexy is one thing, but going without a bra is retarded. I'm not a character in a cheap porno. Gotta show some common sense."

A figure loomed above her, blocking off the sun like a storm cloud. That was a pretty accurate description of Mrs. Sanford, her fundie bitch neighbor who felt it was her holy mission to rain on everyone's parade.

"What's the meaning of this racket? Shouting and cursing and looking like a whore on my lawn. Your parents should have taught you better manners."

Lisa snarled. Typical -- a girl moaning in pain and this so-called Christian could only think of berating her.

"Sorry Mrs. Stepford." Damn. Everyone -- even Lisa's parents -- called her that behind her back, but saying it to her face would only make things worse. Mrs. Stepford's already angry expression grew fiercer.

"That's it, I'm calling the police. You should be in school, not lying on my lawn exposing your--" A look of embarrassment briefly chased the usual scowl off her face. "Your bottom half for all creation to see." The scowl reclaimed it's usual spot between Mrs. Sanford's pearl necklace (who does she think she is, June Cleaver?) and her reddish blonde bangs.

Something snapped in Lisa. "You need to lighten up. How about showing some compassion and charity instead of being such a first class bitch?" she shouted.

The rage drained from Mrs. Sanford's face. "You're right," she said. "You're having a bad time of it and I'm just making things worse. Come on inside, I'll get you an aspirin and some tea."

Lisa blinked in amazement. This was the first time she'd heard Mrs. Sanford have a kind word for anyone, except maybe Glenn Beck. She actually looked kind of nice (not to mention ten years younger) without that perpetual scowl of disapproval, too.