Dear Bungalow Neighbors

Dear Bungalow Neighbors,

When I joined your bungalow colony four years ago, it was easy to see right away that there was a Queen of the Colony. Whatever she wore or liked became the norm, and her bungalow was the place to hang out, with everyone sitting on the chairs beneath her porch almost subserviently.

She walked around bestowing her smiles on only those with whom she was friendly. I wasn’t one of them. When I walked by, she barely acknowledged me, and my friendly texts and phone calls went ignored. It bothered me. I wanted to be friends with everyone. I let it be for a while, working on making friends with other people. I hoped that as more people got to know me, it would even out.

It didn’t.

The Queen networked more, and more of her friends joined the colony. As each family moved in, the wives surrounded her and played right into the dynamics. There were morning walks, lunch dates in Woodbourne, night swims, and circle chats. Occasionally, a neighbor, one of you, would move in and get similar treatment to me. You’d confide in me, seeing that I was in the same category as you. I validated you and told you I didn’t think it was personal, and hopefully things would get better.

They didn’t.

I watched as even those of you who were treated poorly would kowtow to her so that she’d like you. You’d gush over her kids’ clothes and drool over her new wig.