THE SENIOR-ROOMIE'S UNBEARABLE MOODINESS

My ex-girlfriend's Teddy Bear (aka 'the senior roomie') is trying to rope me into a plot to whack Savage Kitten's current beau. Push him off the end of a pier, or hack him to pieces with a chainsaw.

I must admit, the concept has a certain fey appeal.

There are just two minor problems with the scheme.

The first one is that I would have to do all the heavy lifting - a ten inch tall Teddy Bear just isn't very able in that regard.
The second one is that Savage Kitten and I are no longer a couple. Even if 'Wheelie Boy' were to magically disappear (cease to exist, go on to meet his maker, push up the daisies, join the bleeding choir invisible), that wouldn't change.
That relationship is over. So what, precisely, is in it for me?
The only person who would be happy is ten inches tall - a Teddy Bear with issues, who really needs to get over her feelings of abandonment.


Wheelie Boy's demise - desirable to small ursines though it might be - will not change matters.
I sympathize with the bear, really I do. That is why I have welcomed her over to my side - her young lady is hardly ever in the apartment nowadays, and small bears are apt to get mighty lonely. Distressed, even. She needs company, and a sympathetic ear. It is a pleasure to give her sanctuary, and help her deal with her small ursine anger over recent developments.
But I cope with things differently.
An adult has to approach issues in a mature fashion.
Unlike the Teddy Bear, I am a sober realist, and am moving on.

Meaning that I'm gloomily hiding out at bars and the office, interrupted by snack-visits to Chinatown eateries, long walks with a pipe, and a stinking attitude - oh wait, that's the pipe also.
Not precisely anywhere near young ladies, most of the time. Well, other than the bars, that is. But women who go to bars hardly appeal to me.
Pleasant enough to chat with, not really people you would want to know better.
In any case, not likely to sympathize with a Teddy Bear lurking in my bed.
Nor, for that matter, would she (the aforementioned TB) approve of them.
At times she has a mouth on her, and she's likely to curse them in Cantonese.
Very blunt and expressive Cantonese.
She's rather stubborn.


The senior roomie really would like to eliminate 'Wheelie Boy'. A charming and delightful conceit.
I wouldn't mind dumping him off the end of the pier myself, but that isn't the kind of thing that would be attractive to a prospective sweet young thing.
Homicide is not a love potion.
Come to think of it, most women don't approve of murder.
It's an inexplicable fact - they will look askance.
I don't need any more askance looking.

So the Teddy Bear will just have to do it on her own, and not rely on me.
I sure ain't gonna whack the shmoe.
The past cannot be redeemed.
This Toad is moving on.

Now, if only I can convince some sweet young thing that I'm completely sane, stable, and in all ways both deliciously risky and utterly safe, things will be perfect.


Perhaps I should offer her some bubble gum vodka?


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MUST KILL, MUST KILL!

Due to the continued mental instability of the Head Roomie (ms. Bruin), the small she-sheep with the little pink bows (Angus) has been appointed acting Head-Roomie. She will be assisted by the magenta cat (Beanie) and the big black hand-puppet spider (Pierpont).

The senior teddy bear is no longer up to the task.
I'm sure you understand.
Not quite a mental break-down, but definitely too much stress.

Ms. Bruin is very upset that the other human person in the apartment spends so much time with her boy friend.
And I can understand that - what is this world coming to when a woman devotes more attention to some werewolf in a wheelchair than to her oldest companion in the world, that being the teddy bear she's known for longer than anyone else?

For the past several months, ms. Bruin mutters "must kill, must kill" every time his name is mentioned. This obsession with pushing Wheelie Boy off the end of a pier reached crisis proportions over the weekend. She didn't chastise the Froad at all when he hatched a plot to whack one of the other fuzzballs, just snapped "what EVER" and went back to her murderous muttering.

Very disconcerting, I assure you.

Just can't have chaos among the critters. It ain't right.

Something had to be done.


Not all of the little anarchists are happy with the decision to appoint Angus (that being the she-sheep) acting head roomie. Several insisted that they were in fact more suitable for the task, being older, and clearly so much wiser. That last assertion is contradicted by their behaviour heretofore. Thieves, rabble-rousers, rioters, and incendiarists!


They'll just have to suck it up. Change is in the air. This is a good thing.


And no, we will NOT hold a vote on this. We're not running a democracy.
I have authorized Angus to clout dissenters fiercely if they start anything.
Things will be peaceful, or else!


AFTER THOUGHT

The plan to lure Wheelie Boy to the end of pier by laying down a trail of Swedish Princess cake has been shelved temporarily. Logistical issues.
The intended victim would require a plate with one of those little pastry doilies on it for each slice, as well as a clean fork for each serving, and a serviette.

And he probably can't eat more than a few pieces before being full, unfortunately.

"Ooh, what's this? A slice of Swedish Princess Cake! Joy! Ooh, what's that? Another slice of Swedish Princess Cake! Yay! Oooh, and is that ANOTHER slice of Swedish Princess Cake over there? Oh happy day!"

So even though I offered to bankroll ms. Bruin's purchasing of the entire supply of Swedish Princess Cake from that nice bakery in North Beach (up to four hundred dollars worth), he wouldn't follow the lure all the way to the end of the pier. Ms. Bruin will have to think of something else.




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