Hide your garden gnomes

We live in a “community”, which is to say that we could wallpaper our bathroom with the stack of paper containing the neighborhood covenants. They’ve got a rule for every possible contingency, in case you are considering hiring a goat to paint your house in bright orange polka dots. (page 379, section 870c, paragraph g).

The homeowner’s association (hereinafter referred to as “Evil Bloodsucking Tyrants” – or EBT) has a fleet of bright red golf carts equipped with search lights, sirens, and flashing lights. They frequently pass my house, camera at the ready, hoping to find a plastic pink flamingo in my garden. One neighbor was caught with a lawn jockey, and ended up doing an OJ pursuit. He was clocked on Maple Avenue going 5 MPH, followed by no less than six EBT-mobiles.

My daughter lives in a similar community. She recently had some Canadians (hereinafter referred to as Canucks) move in a few doors down. Even though they brought escargot to the neighborhood potluck, they seem like pretty nice folks. I’m not ashamed to say that some of my best friends are Canadians.

Now bear in mind that I’m not making this up, people.

A few weeks ago, Mr. and Mrs. Canuck stepped outside to find the president of the HOA dressed in camouflage and crouched in their bushes. He had a video camera, apparently trying to document them in some fiendish plot to take over the American maple syrup industry. He came up with some lame excuse about trying to catch people blowing the stop sign on the corner. Being Canadian, they were too polite to call the police or punch his lights out.

Speaking of voyeurs, the police finally caught the porta-potty peeper. He would hide out in a porta-potty (and there’s only one place to hide out in a porta-potty) and watch women pee. I’m trying to figure out how the judicial system is going to punish him. The man likes to crouch in shit. How can you get much worse than that?

But I digress.

The problem is that we want to park our motor home out front for a few days to do some repairs. This is the same motor home that we dropped into a septic tank last year, so the tailpipe is still being held on by a coat hanger and duct tape. Unlike my pink flamingo, it’s kind of hard to stash a motor home under the bed when the HOA drives by.

If you have some suggestions about how we can hide a twenty-eight foot RV in the driveway, I’m all ears. I’m probably going to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how a grown man can squeeze down a toilet.