THANK YOU, PLEASE CALL AGAIN!

There are times when you can still tell that the call is not an actual live human to whom you wish to talk. Prerecorded, robotic, or a subcontinental scam artist trying to get into your bank account, your computer, or your boxer shorts.
Calls telling you that you are in danger of losing your approval for a student loan, or telling you amazing things about Dan's Airduct Service. Or asking, brightly, "hi, is the lady of the house there?" With an expectant pause.
Other than saying 'no', or asking 'why', or even slamming the phone down, there is only ONE possible response to that.


"WE ARE AN ANARCHO-SYNDICALIST COLLECTIVE!"

"We take it in turns to be the Lady of the House. Supreme femininity derives from a mandate from the masses!"


As far as actual gender goes, my apartment mate is the Lady of the House. We are not a couple, neither of us make decisions that would involve both of us, there is nothing to see here. So just move along.
She is the small Cantonese womyn resident. Of the apartment.
I am the smelly Dutch resident. Of the apartment.
The senior roomie is a teddy bear.


We share the kitchen, crapper, shower, and a landline. We have separate beds, rooms, bank accounts, computers, and love lives.
That is to say, she may have broken up with Wheelie Boy (I should know?), but they are still on good terms.
I haven't had a love life since like before Jayzus.

There is no 'Lady of the House'.
Instead, two grumpy adults.
And a dour teddy bear.

We will not buy the garbage on the other end of the line.






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