So, there was an executive meeting Monday.

If you'll look at my pictures, you'll notice I can punk up. So I spiked my hair, put on my wire-rimmed dark glasses, a tank top and Cruel Girl jeans, and walked down to listen to the Garden Club.

When Miss "That Cruel Night last September" woman said, "You have my assurances that our money is being spent properly," I said, "We don't want your assurances. We want records."

I listened for a few more minutes, and stalked out.

Come to find out, Little Sharon asked one of the other members "who that woman was."

"Oh, that's Janis Gore, the attorney's wife," a member told her.

Did I tell you we won our tiny suit?

Have I told you that the contractor told my elderly couple that his company can't pay for their windows?

Have I told you that I would have rather kicked every ass at that table than look at their faces?

Sure they could have taken me, but it would have been a catfight.

Addendum: Nothing makes you feel so mean as waking up to a pneumatic chisel, or jackhammer, or whatever they're using next door.