I took it and the envelope Miguel had given me last night out to the patio. I found a sunny spot in the corner and pulled one of the padded wicker chairs over to it. I sighed, feeling the sun warm the top of my head and shoulders while a cool breeze scented the air with something delicately sweet. After I’d slugged back half of my coffee, I used my thumb to open the envelope. Ten pages fell into my lap. Ten.

I would like to report that it was a friendly, chatty, getting-to-know-you missive. It was not. It had bullet points. Seriously. And suddenly the term bullet points seemed very on target, so to speak.

The language was unapologetically terse as if the person issuing the rules felt that this would preemptively halt any argument coming from the recipient of the letter, i.e., me. Hmm.

I scanned the pages, looking for any hint of warmth or apology for not including these rules in the original lease. There was nothing, just rule after rule, belabored to the point of exhaustion. I glanced back at the first page and began to read, while the froth on my coffee deflated much like my spirits.

Tenant [as if he didn’t know my name from all the paperwork I’d submitted]

Be advised [I wondered how hard it was for him to use the word advised instead of at my command] that the following is a list of rules I encourage you to follow [I suspected there had been a punishment—such as lashings or banishment—that had been listed here but he forced himself to reconsider, given that he’d missed his opportunity to put “the rules” in the legally binding lease] for the benefit of all residing on these premises.

• The pool is for the exclusive use of the homeowner. [I noted he did not mention the hot tub.]
• No noise, such as loud music, is allowed after 9 PM. [9??? Good grief, he must be old enough to remember life before motor vehicles.]
• No pets, of any kind, are allowed. [Did that include dragons? I wondered. I suddenly quite desperately wanted a fire-breathing dragon.]
• Trash pickup is Tuesday morning. You are responsible for putting your bins at the curb and must bring them in before nightfall the same day. [He really did have too much time on his hands.]

On and on it went. By the end, I was only surprised that he didn’t specify which way I put my toilet paper, over or under, on the holder. Honestly, it was clear Mr. Daire needed a hobby. Well, nagging me was not going to be it.