the time we reached our porch, two couples were already walking home. A few minutes later, another neighbor left carrying a folding chair. Vanessa’s barbecue hadn’t ended, but the mood had.
For about 40 minutes, I felt wonderful. Then I started wondering what Vanessa would do after losing in front of half the neighborhood.
“Don’t call me for things around your house anymore.”
The answer began with petty things.
A complaint about Irvin running the lawn mower at noon. An anonymous note about our trash cans being visible from the street. Irritating, but harmless.
Then the real letter arrived.
I stood in my kitchen and read it twice.
I had to stop all commercial food operations from our property pending a compliance review.
The answer began with petty things.
My bakery.
I had food permits. I had passed inspections. What I didn’t have, I discovered after several frantic phone calls,
