For the past nine years, with the exception of the rare times I’ve gone on vacation, this is what I’ve had to look at every time I exit and enter my front door.
It matters not the time of year, the season, the month, or the day, the snowman with a broom for a body is here to stay.
The first year, I thought it endearing that my neighbors wanted to promote Christmas 365 days of the year.
After the second year, I wondered if there was anyone living in the house, since we never heard any noise coming from their place.
When the third year came around, I began to think my neighbors were freaks who didn’t have the slightest clue that snowmen were normally used as Christmas decorations.
During the fourth year, I held a candle under the damn thing to see if it would melt. It did not, but the broom almost caught on fire.
The fifth year had me believing my neighbors were actually dead and their rotting corpses lay somewhere in their home.
The sixth year clued me in on the possibility that the snowman was a talisman which allowed the mummified bodies of my now deceased neighbors, from stinking up the building.
After the seventh year, I was convinced my neighbors were time travelers and that the snowman was the portal they used to go back in time.
The eighth year brought the acceptance that the snowman didn’t have any magical powers and that my neighbors were sloths who were too lazy to take down eight year old Christmas decorations.
The ninth year brought with it the conspiracy theory that the jolly guy is really a sophisticated spy cam; activated by a motion detector.
And two days ago, when I nearly broke my neck as I walked out of my home, a new theory came to life.
Perhaps this was my neighbors’ way of taking revenge for the unsightly view of our front door.
It matters not that the they’re carefully arranged, or that they’re not obstructing their front door.
Maybe my neighbors think our ratty shoes are as ugly as their spiderwebbed Frosty and the snowman is a nonverbal way of manifesting their disgust.
Well, two can play the game and this morning, without giving it another thought, I crossed my threshold and did this:
I may have to look at the ugly thing for another nine years, but his owners will be staring at his ass the next time they open their front door.