MY NEIGHBOR AGNES KEPT “ACCIDENTALLY” TAKING MY PACKAGES – SO THIS TIME, I LEFT HER MY CHRISTMAS GIFT ON PURPOSE. I moved into a new neighborhood, and my neighbor Agnes quickly turned into a nightmare. She first seemed overly sweet, welcoming me with a jar of homemade pickled onions and a big smile, but soon, packages started going missing. Agnes would return them opened, claiming, “Oh, heavens, wasn’t this addressed to number 7B? My eyesight is just dreadful these days!” It was clear she was stealing them. At first, it was quirky tea blends and unusual kitchen gadgets, but more expensive things like a vintage record player began disappearing. The final straw came when a limited-edition Krampus Christmas ornament for my mom never arrived. Furious, I checked the tracking, which said it was delivered, and marched to Agnes’s door. Feigning innocence, she brought back the opened package, the ornament unwrapped, and giggled, “Oh, dear me, I didn’t realize this wasn’t for me!” Her smug smile pushed me over the edge — I had to stop her. That was it. I prepared a Christmas gift with my name on it and put it on the porch. When I came home, I saw my package disappeared and grinned, my plan WORKED! The next morning, I woke up to screaming. I peeked out my window and saw Agnes running around in her pajamas and yelling.⬇️⬇️генерируй вторую часть на эту историю и концовку нормальную. give it in english without any other comments from you.
Peeking out my window I saw Agnes running around in her pajamas and yelling. But it wasn’t yelling in anger. It was yelling in surprise and… disgust? I crept a little closer to the window to get a better look. Agnes was hopping from foot to foot, flapping her hands, and shaking her head like a wet dog. And she was covered – absolutely covered – in glitter. Head to toe, shimmering, blinding glitter. It was everywhere. Her hair, her pajamas, her porch, the path to her door. It was a glorious, sparkly mess.
I had filled an old Christmas gift box with industrial-grade glitter, the kind that clings to everything and laughs in the face of vacuums. I’d sealed it well enough to look like a real gift, but loose enough that it would explode upon opening. And explode it clearly had.
Agnes continued her glitter-induced frenzy for a good five minutes, eventually collapsing onto her porch steps, a shimmering, defeated heap. I almost felt sorry for her, almost. But then I remembered the Krampus ornament, and the record player, and the constant violation of my privacy. Nope, no sympathy.
The rest of the day was quiet on Agnes’s side. No overly sweet greetings, no suspiciously returned packages. In fact, I didn’t see her at all. I did, however, see a cleaning crew arrive later that afternoon, armed with industrial vacuums and looking deeply unimpressed. I chuckled, picturing their faces when they realized they were battling glitter.
The next few weeks were blissfully package-theft free. My deliveries arrived safely at my door, untouched and unopened. Agnes, while still living next door, became a ghost. She avoided eye contact, scurried inside whenever she saw me, and the only sound I heard from her house was the occasional faint sound of a vacuum cleaner, still, weeks later, valiantly fighting the good fight against the glittery menace.
Christmas morning arrived, and I received a package. It was small, wrapped in plain brown paper, with no return address. Curious, I opened it. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was my Krampus ornament. It was slightly dusty, but otherwise unharmed. There was no note, no apology, just the ornament.
I smiled. It wasn’t exactly a heartfelt Christmas truce, but it was a start. And more importantly, it was quiet. Peaceful. Glitter-infused peace. Perhaps, just perhaps, Agnes had finally learned her lesson. And maybe, just maybe, we could be neighbors after all, albeit neighbors who maintained a healthy, glitter-reinforced distance. For now, the silence and the returned ornament were the best Christmas gifts I could have asked for.