28th April, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Apr 28
- 2 min read
The Cougar Clause
Filed under: Neighbourhood Nonsense
Dearest Diary,
There are few things more dangerous than a woman scorned —except perhaps a woman scorned with screenshots, Ring footage, and a 30-minute PowerPoint she built in Canva Premium.
My morning began innocently enough: a consultation with a potential client I shall refer to only as Mrs. Lovelace, because she exuded the energy of someone who’s watched “Snapped” not for entertainment, but for research.
She arrived precisely on time, eyes sharp, lips tighter than opposing counsel’s extensions, and sat down as if the chair had personally offended her.
“It’s the neighbour,” she said, tone flat.“The one with the ceramic frogs and the artificial turf.He’s cheating with her.She’s twice his age.Maybe three times emotionally.But he’s mowing her lawn, if you catch my drift.”
Diary, I gulped.
Not for the affair — men, after all, are alarmingly consistent in their stupidity —but for the visual she conjured: this man, this allegedly virile man, galloping across a HOA-monitored lawn into the arms of Glenda from Nextdoor, whose primary hobbies, according to the client, include “baking banana bread and interrupting married men’s destinies.”
I nodded solemnly.
She continued.
Apparently, the affair was not discreet.
Not in the slightest.
It began with “shared garbage days” and ended with synchronized hot tub sessions under the guise of “community bonding.”
Ring camera footage confirmed multiple 9:00 PM strolls in matching velour tracksuits.There were text messages with the words “massage chair” and “don’t tell your wife I made cobbler.”
The cobbler, Diary. It’s always the baked goods that break the marriage.
And here’s the real twist:This wasn’t just infidelity.
It was intergenerational betrayal.
The neighbour used to babysit him.
She taught him how to ride a bike.
She once signed his field trip permission slip.
Now she’s allegedly signing for other things.
The client leaned forward, voice trembling with rage and Chardonnay:
“She’s old enough to be his mother.But instead, she’s his mistress.I didn’t even know she still had hips.”
Diary, I did not laugh.But only because my retainer policy does not cover emotional collapse.
We discussed legal options, of course.But really, she didn’t come for legal advice.She came for confirmation that she was not, in fact, insane —that the world had tilted on its axis and placed her squarely in the realm of ridiculous tragedy.
I told her the truth:This is Texas Family Law. Insanity is practically the jurisdiction.
Poised. Petty. Permanently Sidelined by Banana Bread.
Disclaimer: All neighbors, baked goods, and hot tub transgressions in this entry are fictionalized for satirical purposes. Any resemblance to real cul-de-sacs is purely coincidental, but spiritually accurate.
Tag a friend whose husband wouldn’t survive the HOA newsletter being subpoenaed.
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