Please excuse the decidedly corny title, but we found a shrew in the pool today, still alive, and the title seemed appropriate, especially since I seem to trying to tame everything else in my life.
I’m already at work. This is never a good sign of the day to come. I’m here because some particularly noisy cretins decided to have a gossip session…underneath my cardboard box (I live on the ‘first’ floor, in essence, but the ‘ground’ floor remains a husk, waiting to be made into an apartment).
Along with the sweeping, these little gossip sessions have become part of my daily grumbles, but this morning I would have none of it. I stormed to my window and yelled, ever so nicely, to shut the [insert expletive here] up, as it’s 6.30am.
There was barely an ebb in the flow of conversation. Either they have particularly bad hearing, or really couldn’t give a flying beep at a rolling doughnut (please excuse the Stephen King plagiarism). So, in my fit of near rage, I hurried to find some clothes, gave up and decided see-through pyjama bottoms would have to do. Until I happened to glance in the mirror and nearly reeled myself through the bedroom window. I’d forgotten about my swim yesterday and, whilst I had washed the chlorine out of everything else, I’d not done my hair. I had about a half a dozen cork screws framing my face, smeared mascara, see-through polka dot pjs and a set of matching luggage under my eyes, big enough to have bought at Harrods. By the time I had managed to get over my shock, wipe away a bit of the masses of masacara and find the ever illusive bra, I was out of energy…and had summoned up enough logic to realise that accosting two unknown men, with no one else around, wasn’t perhaps my best idea ever.
So I sat down to compose a particularly nasty text to Infernal. Sadly, it turned out to not be so nasty, but I did elude to the sweeping and asked him (nicely…I just can’t stop asking nicely!) to please get his ‘guys’ to keep it down pre-8am, as I had once again been woken up by their gossip session. The text was long, but no more than double the average length. I hit ‘send’ and immediately felt relief.
Until the ‘ping’ came, informing me the message wasn’t sent. Apparently, my phone believes that having enough airtime for 4-5 texts, you aren’t allowed to send any. It keeps blocking me at R5. At R5, I am allowed to go onto Facebook, Twitter and even Google+, but God (title cased only out of respect for others) forbid I try to send a text. I try again. It fails. Does anyone else see a sneaky hate spiral coming on?
I now can’t wait. I get dressed, hurriedly grabbing whatever I can find (I end up looking like a monochromatic witch) and drive off to work.
I get here, load airtime and wait. I want the perfect moment to surprise Infernal with my particularly not-nasty text.
My first cup of coffee arrives. It has no sugar. I could weep.
PS. To quote Benoni Goose, I’m not overly fond of being stalked, or people lurking about on my blog, so please subscribe (email link to the right, or click the elephant, not the mammoth). I don’t do a whole lot of posting, so you become victim of a spam-attack.
On that note, I still have no idea what to do about Mr From a Lesbian. Can I lay a charge of theft, if he’s told me she’s missing? Do I give up? Do I harass him? Please help me out guys. I’m lost and a bundle of emo nerves.