AITA for unplugging my neighbours Xmas lights from my house?
Christmas should glow with cheer, but for this homeowner, it’s flickered into a neighborly nuisance. Last year, his next-door pal asked to tap his outlet for some twinkly lights—he shrugged, forgot to check with his wife, and found their setup hijacked. This year, no ask, just plugged in again. He yanked the cord, leaving their display half-dark. Too grinchy, or just right?
Picture a snowy street, houses aglitter—then a sneaky cord snaking from his porch to theirs. He’s rigged his own lights with extension cords for years, but they’d rather sip his juice for free. No chat, no cash, just assumptions. Now their right-side lights dangle dim, and he’s wondering if he’s the Scrooge. Let’s untangle this holiday hassle.
‘AITA for unplugging my neighbours Xmas lights from my house?’
Neighborly vibes can light up a block—until someone’s draining your watts. This guy let it slide once, but now his outlet’s a free-for-all, no permission sought. Unplugging was his move—was it petty or proper? Let’s string it out.
He’s irked: they’ve got their own plug but won’t cord it up, leeching his power instead. Last year’s “sure” wasn’t a lifetime pass, yet they assumed. It’s not just lights—it’s boundaries crossed, watts mooched. He’s no doormat, just done.
This flickers a common spat: neighbor entitlement. A 2023 EnergySage report says holiday lights can hike bills by $10-50 monthly (source). Expert Dr. Amy McCart advises, “Clarity’s king—unspoken favors breed resentment” (source). Here, no ask equals no right.
McCart’s spot-on: they’re freeloading, and he’s fair to cut the cord. Next time, a quick “hook up your own” could dodge the drama. My take: stand pat, gift a cord if you’re feeling jolly. Readers, what’s your spark—his win, or too dim?
Here’s what the community had to contribute:
Most Redditors lit up his side, jeering neighbors mooching juice—pinching pennies on cords while spiking his bill earned the unplug, not him. Some twinkled at diplomacy, suggesting a chat or cord loan, but nodded it’s his turf, his call. Plenty cheered his zap—NTA, they’re cheap, they glowed—others flipped it: snip the wire, they dared. The hum shone bright: he’s no ass, just a guy dimming freeloaders.
This light fight isn’t just a tug—it’s a merry mess of manners and meters, where a guy’s outlet met a neighbor’s nerve. Their lights dimmed, his fuse held—now it’s peace via their own cord. Was his yank too stark, a shade where words might’ve shone? Or did their grab spark a cut he had to clip?
He stands, they string—tension twinkles. What do you see—did he dull too quick, or they gleam too bold? How would you brighten this neighborly knot? Flicker your thoughts, your own tales of boundary blips, below—let’s glow through this festive snag together!
