At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

IT'S JUST YOUR IMAGINATION

The person with whom I share living space is absolutely convinced that A) there are snow weasels; and B) a savage horde of them are lurking in our neighborhood right now, intent upon eating her.
She can hear them, and the clatter of their cutlery.

No, she isn't insane. She treats metaphors and subconscious embodiments as reality. I would not describe that as anything more than a somewhat minor dysfunctionality.

Evenso, I have tried explaining that there are no such animals as snow weasels, nor have the little flesh-eating pests constructed a trail down from the frigid northlands, littered with the bones of their victims and discarded cutlery.

To no avail.


SO BALLY COLD!

Earlier today, when I came out of the bath and was dressing myself, I could hear her in her room muttering disconsolately "snow weasels, so bally cold, snow weasels!" When I was fully decent, I went over and found her on the floor with a warm blanky, in front of the electric heater, rubbing her hands together.
Suffering intensely from the cold.
Imaginary chills.

It actually wasn't cold at all. Just raining, with a bit of wind. But she has completely convinced herself that it is freezing.
So bally cold!

It's a mental thing. And a lack of sufficient body fat.

There just isn't enough insulation there, as both I and her boy friend have been trying to tell her.
She refuses to gain weight.
If she does, snow weasels will eat her.


WOMEN ARE STARK RAVING MAD

I said earlier that she wasn't insane. By that I meant that she was no more batsh*t than any other woman. Who, as all men eventually find out, are off their rockers. Totally loopy, out of their minds, im gonzen farkehrt.
Incapable of calm rational thoughts.
About some things.

Savage Kitten has the intellect and keen intelligence of a mature adult, but sometimes the emotional age of a juvenile. It's like living with an obsessive genius somewhere between eight years old and sound middle-age.
It varies, depending on mood.

Her major personal goal this week was to find a more appropriate tee-shirt for the small gorilla which also lives in our apartment. The gorilla, named Arabello Oyster, was wearing something that said "eat, sleep, dominate", meant for humans in their first year of life, when that's all they do. Savage Kitten has informed me that some of the more insecure roomies were upset, because they felt that it showed 'attitude'.
I naturally did not understand what she was talking about.
Of course he should wear 'eat, sleep, dominate'.
He's the Control Monkey - it's perfect.

I often wonder how her boy friend deals with her.

Maybe she's never shared such things with him?

Which is totally unfair. He probably doesn't even know about the snow weasels either. Here I am, the person who has to put up with an angry teddy bear, grumpy stuffed animals, strife between the four monkeys (in order of entry into the household: Urasmus Wazzoo, George, Max, and Mr. Oyster), AND the bally snow weasels.
And all he has to worry about is body fat.

A much saner person (in other words, a man) would not hide this from their significant other. They'd share it.

Especially the bit about snow weasels.
For which there is NO evidence.
No. Such. Critter. At. ALL!
And it's NOT that cold.


It's all in your mind.


I really have to wonder if there are rational women out there, who have quieter OR more sensible stuffed animals, do not object to pipe-smoking in their vicinity, would love to go out for a curry breakfast, and thoroughly enjoy sharing tea (and cookies!) at twilight. Women who are actually normal.
Who don't believe in imaginary creatures.
Such as snow weasels.

I would like to meet one sometime.
But they probably don't exist.
Like snow weasels.



Actually, my toes ARE cold.
Now that I think about it.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

 
Newer›  ‹Older