I’m convinced my neighbors are the Weasley’s

I grew up in a quiet suburban upper-middle-class neighborhood with an in-ground pool and a big backyard (not to brag).  All of that changed a few years ago when some spawn of satan development company decided to sell off the woods behind my house.  They cut down every last tree and spent months building giant monster houses.  The first one up was literally DIRECTLY BEHIND mine.  And since it was higher up, that meant new neighbors could see every last thing in our backyard and even into our back windows.  Sadly, this meant no more skinny dipping or sacrificial rituals.  Which is fine, I was running out of goats.

The new neighbors have at least 17 children and they are all gingers.  That’s right, a bunch of loud obnoxious red-headed children now ruin my summer pool days.  I am convinced they are the Weasleys.  Well, maybe not the Weasleys.  They’re more like what would happen if the Weasleys and the Malfoys bred: rich, obnoxious, crazy gingers.  Minus the cool British accents.

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