My True Feelings About Lawn Care (late night imagination)

This might be a scary thing, but I'd like to give you a little glimpse into my late-night imagination. This is a little scene that has played itself out many a time as I fall asleep, and the story has many variants. But here is the basic idea.  The setting: we live in a pleasant neighborhood, own our first home, and consistently fail to mow the lawn.

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Someone knocks on the door.  It is the Head of the Neighborhood Association (HNA).

HNA: "Hello Mrs. Moore. I am here to remind you that your neighborhood contract requires you to care for your outside property so that its aesthetic properties will be satisfactory."

Me: "What do you mean?"

HNA:  "Mrs. Jones across the street, along with several other neighbors, have registered concerns that the grass in your yard is way too long, and smattered with weeds."

Me, still uncertain:  "We do take care of our yard. But, now that you mention it, I don't really care for Mrs. Jones' marigolds."  I start to walk across the street to register MY concerns with Mrs. Jones.

The H.N.A. follows me. "Mrs. Moore, you can't let weeds grow in your yard. You signed the covenant."

Me: "Yes, we said we'd take care of our property, and we do. What do you mean by weeds, anyways?"

HNA: "Ma'am, your lawn is smattered with dandelions and flanked by large bushy things."

Me: "Well, Mrs. Jones's porch is smattered with marigolds, and I don't like those. Can I sic you on her plants?"