From time to time the Philodendron of the Parthenon wistfully dreams of moving to one of our fair village's more elegant neighborhoods where the homes are spacious, the amenities sublime and the landscaping is reminiscent of the gardens of Versailles. 

On occasion we've even driven through Hunter's Green, Tampa Palms or Cheval and walked through open houses to see how other people live in such Ethan Allen splendor. And how they manage to exist without golden retriever hair all over the place remains a source of wonderment to us. 

It's a lovely vision, to be sure, until we realize that even if we had no other debt and somehow managed to actually move in one of these homes, we would probably have to cultivate a taste for Tender Vittles the rest of our lives. 

Just as well, perhaps. 

In the end, the Azalea of Saks Fifth Avenue and I probably aren't temperamentally suited to live in chichi, froufrou, hotsy- totsy swankiness. 

You must understand, the Buttercup of the Balkans is Greek, a culture that does not handle authoritarian autocrats particularly well. I have tried, with precious little success, to imagine were we living in, say, Hunter's Green, how the Peony of the Peloponnesus would handle some fool from the homeowners association showing up at the front door to inform us that our lawn wasn't up to snuff. 

It wouldn't be pretty. 

Where do people who embody every mother-in-law joke you've ever heard, folks with a penchant for clipboards and a passion for meddling, go when they die? 

That great homeowners association in the sky. 

A few days ago, Tribune reporter Neil Johnson took note of the fact that in addition to the drought conditions we've all been experiencing lately, brains are drying up as well at some area subdivisions. 

To cope with the absence of water, Lucy Swayngim, who lives in the Countryway housing development, replaced her dying lawn with rather snazzy-looking xeriscaped, drought-tolerant foliage. 

Meanwhile over in the Orwellian state of Hunter's Green, because of severe watering restrictions, Sara Hadley-Banahene has watched her yard turn into a hay patch - and those are just the weeds. The grass is in even lousier shape. 

But that hasn't stopped both women's respective homeowners association star chambers from going by the book, even if the pages are from ``Animal Farm.'' 

In Countryway, Swayngim has been ordered by her kaffeeklatsch of clipboard holders to rip out her environmentally sensible xeriscaping and plant sod. 

Meanwhile, over in Hunter's Green, Hadley-Banahene has been given an edict from her minders to spray her weeds and plant new grass, that will soon die, in 14 days - or else. 

Uh, excuse me, but when one moves in a so-called ``deed-restricted'' community, does that also mean one also agrees to restrict any semblance of common sense? 

Over the years we've all heard countless homeowner association horror stories - families that run afoul of their subdivision Stasi because they built a treehouse (in their back yard!) for a sick child; the poor sap who is cited by the snoop patrol because the family car doesn't fit into the garage; the schmo who faces a ``Branded''-like kangaroo trial simply because he didn't get the garbage cans in off the street fast enough. 

But going after people because Mother Nature has pulled a cruel trick on their grass certainly seems to be taking an anal- retentive attention to regulatory detail to absurd depths. 

Rather, it would seem both women are burdened with a sense of rationality that escapes their homeowners association paper pushers. 

``I refuse to waste water on what passes for grass here,'' Swayngim told Neil Johnson. 

``It's the equivalent of burning money, and I don't have money to burn,'' Hadley- Banahene chimed in. 

They have a message for the homeowners association tattletales. 

Indeed, both women would be more than welcome in my humble neighborhood, where the grass is getting browner by the day - and nobody cares.