The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
Malia Obama was spotted having lunch with a good-looking guy who looks just like a big Hollywood actor.
Malia Obama was all smiles during a sunny lunch date in Los Angeles, and her companion definitely caught attention. The 26-year-old was seen leaving a restaurant with Greek journalist and photographer Achilleas Ambatzidis.
Malia, the oldest daughter of Barack and Michelle Obama, was happily chatting with Achilleas, who looks a lot like Hollywood actor Penn Badgley from Gossip Girl, thanks to his beard and dark, floppy hair.
It’s unclear what the relationship between them is, but since moving to LA and starting her career in film, Malia has made a lot of new connections.
She graduated from Harvard University and then turned her attention to working in the entertainment industry.
Achilleas also lives in Los Angeles, but his Instagram shows that he often visits his home country
He co-created Chuck Magazine, which is sold in both Los Angeles and New York.
Malia was previously linked to music producer Dawit Eklund, and before that, she dated her Harvard classmate Rory Farquharson.
Her mom, Michelle Obama, has talked about Malia and her sister’s dating lives during an interview on Good Morning America.
“They’re doing great,” Michelle said at the time. “I’m proud of them. They grew up under a really tough spotlight for eight years and turned out to be good, kind, and normal young women who want to make a difference in the world. Plus, they are best friends. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
She also understands that Malia and her sister Sasha want to enjoy dating and have fun with it.
“I think it’s great,” Michelle said. “I want them to figure out what they want and who they are in a relationship, and that means dating different people.”
When asked how Barack feels about them having boyfriends, she admitted he’s “handling it well,” and added: “They were 24 and 21 at the time. They went to prom, had high school experiences, and lived life. He’s learned how to be a protective dad without going overboard.”
They’re proud of both of their daughters and the future they’re building, especially since they’ve stayed away from politics.
At a big fundraiser for President Joe Biden in Los Angeles, someone asked the former President if his daughters would follow his path. Here’s what he said:
“That’s a question I don’t even need to answer because Michelle made sure early on to tell them that going into politics is a crazy idea. It’s never going to happen.”
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