After finishing my laundry yesterday, I dutifully cleaned the laundry room. As instructed, to the best of my abilities. It's now clean enough to give birth in. My id wanted me to be at least slightly rebellious but was eventually overruled by my superego: the curse of being a good girl. Anyway, as I polished and wiped and imagined all the snappy things I could say in the face of more critique, my irritation morphed into anger but eventually became pity. It really must be endlessly frustrating to find no one is able to meet your standards unless you persecute them.
Still, on the way up the stairs I felt the urge to learn the name of my Swiss nemesis. I had an obscure hope that knowing her name would somehow help me recognize her around the building, which would allow me to punish her with some special combination of mad face and cold shoulder in the future. I felt sneaky and silly creeping up to her buzzer to read the name, but extra precaution seemed necessary. She was just the type to frequently utilize a peephole.
Another kind of trouble, it seems, had already found my nemesis. The door was banged up and broken. It appeared to have been forced open at some point. A residue of police tape spanned the doorway. POLIZIA POLIZIA POLIZIA. I crept out of peephole range and down the stairs.
I spend the rest of the evening having all the thoughts and hypotheses you are having right now. What can it all mean? Where are you, Encyclopedia Brown, when I need you most?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Strange goings-on
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4 comments:
As my Italian professor used to say, "Accidente!" Ma che cosa? That is wacky... and I hope she's all right, despite how thoroughly unpleasant she is.
Oh, yes, yes. Should have mentioned that I too hope she is okay. Good thinking. Kind thinking.
Good egg, you.
Does this mean you can relax on the laundry room scouring?
I think I won't take that risk. I've had my fill of tongue-lashings this year!
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