Pink Panty Mafia

There are a few new bosses in the neighborhood. Three little hoods that are all under four feet tall. They set up what looked like a normal little business, a lemonade stand. The lemonade stand was just a front for extortion. As soon as the Pink Panty Mafia set up their neighborhood stand, I was suspicious. "Buy our lemonade," they bellowed. Three little girls who did not act like ladies.

My son was drawn in by their siren song. He wanted to patronize their fledging business. He shook a dime out of his "Good Choice Jar" and was one of the first, if not the first and possibly their only customer. Several days later, he met the Pink Panty Mafia in the cul de sac. They were hungry for more cash. Three girls corner him on a dead end street and tell him, "You ripped us off. You didn't pay us the full $.10. We want more money." Puzzled by their demands, he couldn't understand how they mistook a dime for less than $.10. "It was a shakedown," I said, explaining that these young ladies were simply trying to get more money from him. "If they bother you again, send them to my door. I'll be happy to talk to them."

The neighborhood has been especially peaceful the last few days. My son is still confused. The Pink Panty Mafia seems to be keeping a low profile. I've cautioned him to avoid these "young ladies." "Playing with them is dangerous business," I said. "Their strong arm tactics are not welcome here." These three business women give me Whitney/Mankato flashbacks. In California, we lived on a circular street that decorated for Christmas. At Christmas time, our neighborhood was overrun with tourists, over 17,000 of them. Tour buses would make the windows rattle. Kids ran wild through the lawns. I started to worry about a law suit. Someone tripping over a decoration while trespassing. We'd invited them in with our cheery decorating. I began to have doubts that decorating was really a "gift to the community." When one of the residents of our lovely circle, developed serious health concerns and worried about ambulance response time, he was practically lynched for suggesting that the circle reconsider decorating.

That was enough for me. Christmas really isn't found in garish decorations,badly painted, plastic dwarf-sized nativity sets right next to dwarf Santa's train with nightmarish elves. My spirit of Christmas was found in helping ease a neighbors mind. So I decided not to decorate. Thus began the metaphorical cross burning.

One Sunday morning, as I returned from Church, four frightening neighborhood women cornered me between my car and the car door. I was also five months pregnant with our daughter. "Didn't I understand that I had to decorate. The neighborhood had decided. If the president of the United States says you have to do something then you have to do it. Same thing in this neighborhood." I wasn't sure what country they lived in but the last time I checked, I was living in a democracy. Not decorating hadn't become illegal or had it? Their grasp of politically-correct behavior seem severely handicapped or "differently-abled."

The flawed logic and strong arm tactics sealed the deal for me. I wouldn't decorate now for love or money. These women were nuts. They had a huge emotional investment in Christmas. Reason was on holiday. Our elderly neighbor, Evelyn came out on her porch to keep an eye on the posse. She was afraid for me. Not too long afterward, we lost Evelyn to emphysema. Evelyn, your kindness that day meant so much. You were a class act. I was scared but I would have been more scared if you hadn't had my back. (You were also the only house that really decorated with any style. The rest of us didn't hold a candle to you.)

I'd stepped out of the car on a beautiful winter day in San Diego (Chula Vista) and suddenly was thrust into The Twilight Zone. When I finally escaped, I ran inside, pulled the drapes and called Andy at work. With a quavering voice, the tears beginning to fall, I said, "You won't believe what just happened to me." Later, I got mad. I was more determined than ever not to be bullied.

Seems there are bullies everywhere. I'd like to think that I've gotten feistier since then. Having children brought out more of the grizzly bear in me. I have no patience with bullies, especially penny-ante thugs still in grammar school. "I've got a history, Pink Panty Mafia. You harass my son again, and your parents are going to receive a little visit."