My neighbor Sharon is the type of person who thrives on competition, especially when it comes to Christmas decorations. For her, everything is a contest, and the holidays are her time to shine. Last year, her pettiness turned my festive yard into a muddy mess, but karma had other plans and gave her the spotlight she truly deserved.
Sharon lives for drama. I, on the other hand, enjoy a quiet life with my two mischievous cats and a penchant for low-key holiday cheer. In our suburban neighborhood, people generally mind their own business—except Sharon, who makes it her mission to outdo everyone.
Last November, she leaned over our shared fence with her signature smirk. “Hey, Evelyn! Are you decorating this year? For the contest?”
“What contest?” I asked, genuinely clueless.
“The HOA is hosting a ‘Best Christmas Yard’ competition,” she said, her voice dripping with smugness. “Not that I need the competition.”
“Wow, Sharon. Humble as always,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“Someone has to set the neighborhood standard,” she quipped, laughing as if her victory was already guaranteed.
Within days, Sharon’s yard looked like Christmas on steroids. Inflatable Santa? Check. Light-up reindeer? Check. Thousands of synchronized twinkling lights paired with “Jingle Bell Rock”? Double-check. She even set up a photo booth and started charging five dollars per picture.
Meanwhile, I threw up some string lights, hung an old wreath, and scattered candy canes across the yard. It was simple, but the neighborhood kids loved it. They’d point and giggle as they walked by, which was all I needed.
When the HOA announced the winner at the block party, I wasn’t even paying attention until I heard, “And the Best Christmas Yard goes to… Evelyn!”
I blinked in disbelief. My humble little display had won? As I walked up to accept the certificate, I caught sight of Sharon. Her face was frozen in a tight, strained smile that could have cracked under the pressure.
“Congratulations,” she said through gritted teeth. “Who would’ve thought a few candy canes could beat a professional display?”
“Thanks, Sharon,” I replied with a sweet smile, pretending not to notice her barely contained rage.
The next morning, I packed up the car to visit my mom for Christmas. When I returned two days later, my jaw dropped. My yard was a disaster. A muddy path cut through the snow, leading to my front door, and scrawled in giant letters across the mess were the words: “BEST YARD.”
My initial shock turned to fury. This had Sharon’s fingerprints all over it. Confronting her would be futile—she’d probably play the victim or claim innocence. Instead, I grabbed a shovel and started cleaning up, muttering under my breath about her pettiness.
As I worked, karma decided to intervene. Sharon appeared, sprinting toward me, her face pale.
“Evelyn, wait!” she called, panic in her voice.
“What now?” I asked, holding my shovel mid-scoop.
“I lost something… my engagement ring,” she stammered, avoiding eye contact. “I think it might’ve fallen off while I was, uh… near your yard.”
“You mean while you were vandalizing my yard?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
Her face turned beet red. “Look, just—don’t throw the mud away, okay? I’ll clean it up myself.”
“Oh, no,” I said, savoring the moment. “You made the mess. If your ring’s in here, you can dig for it. In the trash.”
Her eyes widened in horror, but she had no choice. Hours later, Sharon was elbow-deep in garbage bags, sifting through mud. Neighbors gathered to watch, pretending to check their mail or take a stroll, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Sharon’s designer boots and coat were caked in muck, her perfectly styled hair ruined.
When she finally found her ring, she held it up triumphantly, her face a mix of relief and humiliation. “Found it!” she shouted.
“Congratulations,” I said with a slow clap. “Now about the rest of the mud…”
She glared at me before storming off, leaving her mess behind.
The next day, Sharon’s yard was completely bare. All her over-the-top decorations were gone, packed away as if she couldn’t face the neighborhood after her mud escapade. People whispered about her sudden retreat, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the poetic justice.
Later that evening, a neighbor stopped by and said, “Evelyn, your yard’s the perfect example of simple and sweet. You really deserved to win.”
“Sometimes less is more,” I replied with a wink.
As for Sharon, she peeked out from behind her curtains once or twice but didn’t dare step outside. The spotlight she craved had turned into a lesson she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
Maybe next year, Sharon. Maybe next year.