SOMETHING IS TRYING TO GET OUT!

She doesn't always speak with the voices of the stuffed animals, sometimes she speaks with her own voice. It is at those moments that one realizes one is living with another reality in the apartment.
I am used to the senior teddy bear being the voice of reason, and the she-sheep urging everyone to behave in a civilized manner. And I am also very familiar with the head-sheep saying totally outrageous sh*t, the one-legged gibbon riling things up, the control monkey (Mr. Oyster) being possessive and inappropriate, and the shenanigans of the froad, the little black kitty, the carnivorous hamster, the vampire hamster, and the two hamsters with nunchucks. And many other voices.

I am not entirely used to her "normal" operational mode.

Yesterday evening when I came home she was yelling "putza putza putza" and swabbing her pits. Which, it turns out, was her way of coping with the fact that some relative who was picking her up for a family event had called to say he would actually pick her up half an hour earlier than planned.
The pit-swabbing part became clear once she explained it.

If it had been me, bugger the pits, I'll stink.

Being white I do that naturally.


Look, if you're going to pick someone up for a sibling dinner, probably at a Chinese restaurant because all of you are in fact Chinese, which I believe probably includes a female that one of the brothers is dating (good lord, these men are all OLDER than me!), do NOT make the appointed time earlier without at least an hour notice. Preferably several hours.

Even an entire day.


"Hello, little sister, I am calling to let you know that Saturday two days from now I shall be picking you up for dinner with the dingoes half an hour earlier than we agreed, I hope that that is okay?"


Because otherwise the crazy white guy you live with that we don't know about even though it's entirely innocent there is nothing going on between you and both of you have your own quarters is going to come stumbling in after a long day at the salt mines to find you running around wild-eyed yelling "putza putza putza" and keen to swab your pits in a hurry.

Which is disconcerting after a long day.

At the salt mines.



Safely after she left, I fixed myself a cup of strong coffee and had a cigar in the kitchen. That's something I can't really do when she's around, as she objects to the smell of tobacco.

Far better than "putza putza putza".
Whatever that is.




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