It may get hairy…

My landlord’s mother is no longer speaking to me.

Don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t faze me in the slightest – the woman’s a nuisance. Religious fanatic is practically tattooed on her forehead and I may as well have torn my clothes off and donned my favourite tutu when I told her I wasn’t religious.

I’ve nothing against religious people. In fact, I envy them, it must be quite comforting to have religion to lead the way.

But leave me to my vices.

She has the hard-lined face of a former alcoholic and the straight-backed stance of the ‘reformed.’ She instantly puts me on edge. And hides in the shadows of the braai area, waiting to pounce the moment I leave my cardboard box.

Now, I’ve tried to come up with reasons why she would be ignoring me. She obviously thinks this is some form of cruel torture, rather than blessed relief, but I want to know why.

Firstly, she could have read this blog, where I tittle on about Infernal and his OCD ways (Side Note: watched him brush down the outside chairs in such a panic yesterday…what a [insert expletive here], but it was fun to watch). I think I may have mentioned his psychotic stalker of mother and her religious fervour on here too. But no…the chances are slim. When I told her son what I do for a living I got: “Oh, like as in computers?” – it seems to be a family failing.

Secondly, she would have, without doubt, heard my inane and blasphemous curse the other day, as her stalker like son (this isn’t Infernal, by the way, it’s his scarily quiet brother) gave me the fright of my life.

He hovers on the balcony, like some antithetical Juliette and waits until I’ve exited the car and about to walk away, before uttering a quiet, monotone “Hellooo.”  Now, tell me that’s not freaky? I can’t shower. I keep seeing Psycho scenes.

But then I realised: I often don’t come home.

No doubt she’s already decided how I paid for my car and imagined lude, late night shifts with a Russian drug runner. I leave for work at roughly 7.30am and don’t come back until either late at night (much later than normal working hours) or lunch time the following day. What else could I be doing? I mean, let’s face it, we all know that’s what redheads do, right? 😉

I can just see her, monitoring my every move. Watching me arrive in the same clothes the following day, dog-tired and jumping at her sociopath of a son.

But I will never tell her of my secret, midnight rendezvous with….the internet.

Comments on: "Religious fervour or blog bust?" (1)

  1. […] plonker rocked up, underneath my cardboard box, with Religious Fervour, at 9.30pm and started what could only have been a full-scale riot. I thank whatever gods may be* […]


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