Mad as a Fish

I was having a Mass Debate with my friend E. the singer on Monday morning, when Nice Old Lady came into the apartment complex. Nice Old Lady and I usually say hello to each other and she always seems to be happy and jolly. This time, she stopped to talk to me via E. She started by saying "sorry to talk Swedish, maybe you can translate for your friend," and then she talked for about two minutes and wandered off.

E. turned to me with a perplexed look. "What was all that about," I enquired?

"Well for a start, she wasn't born in Sweden. Her accent sucks!" I laughed, but then I thought, "I wonder if Swedish people are going to say that about me when I start speaking Swedish more regularly?"

Anyway, she continued: "Then she was saying that she used to smoke in her apartment, but now she can't because you're not allowed to. Then mentioned that her brother and his wife are coming to visit. Then she went on about some woman who was stabbed in her kitchen about 25 years ago."

We looked at each other for a few moments, and all I could say was "Yay... I have a weird neighbour!" Yes folks, she's a mentalist. Mad as a box of frogs. Now whenever I see Nice Old Lady, I'm going hear "cuckoo... cuckoo" in my head! Nice Old Lady has become A Couple Of Sandwiches Short Of A Picnic Lady (although I'll still call her Nice Old Lady because the above description goes on a bit).

K.'s girlfriend L. is off for a job interview today. If it goes well, we'll be going to the biljard to celebrate. I need some Hair of the Dog tonight, as I drunk like a fish through my radio show last night, and woke up feeling a bit delicate