My next door neighbor. We got along fine until I was on the town council and voted against her daughter getting a liquor license to bolster her failing restaurant. The restaurant was failing because it was a dirty, nasty place to eat, and no amount of liquor was going to change that. Besides, there's a bar on the same block as the Cowtown Cafe, and a mostly LDS town of just 600 people doesn't need two bars. She yelled at me across the fence and called me all kinds of profane names. I can handle that. She worked where Kenny did at the Red Apple and tried to make his life there living hell at first, but then she settled down. I can handle that too. She'll talk to Ken and Tam, Jenny and Kenny, but not to me. And that I can handle. When I got disabled parking set up for the pool and the new splash park, she made some snide remark to her daughter, deliberately loud enough for me to hear, to the effect that I was on the council to get special privileges for - and this was totally clear - "that retarded crippled kid." Ken had to hold me back, then. That I couldn't handle.