And So It Ends

Ah yes, we knew this day was coming...the saga of the landlady finally at an end...and my ass now about to give notice whether or not I even have a place to go, 'cause these are desperate times, people. And desperate times, as you know, call for desperate measures!

I've had a lot of stress and pressure in my life in the past few months, and this Hell Spawn is not the ideal thing to throw into the mix. It's kind of like satan ringing your doorbell after you joined the Jehovas Witnesses or something. Anyway, it all culminated over this past weekend, when after returning from something or other I lay on Me 'eetle Bed to try and get some sleep.

I suddenly heard a knocking at my door. I tensed up, as I always do, because knocks on the door from Hell Spawn usually mean trouble. And that's not in River City, darlings!

So I opened up the door, still in my bathrobe as I had taken a bath before my nap, and she informed me that I had left some "spaghetti sauce" around the sink and that I needed to clean up my "mess." This was strange, as I had not cooked any goddamned spaghetti, folks!

Sound of straw. Snapping. Here it, people? I heard it louder than a bell. Several bells, in fact.

I said, still in a fairly mild tone of voice, "Mrs. X, do you ever have anything NICE to say?"

THAT WAS IT! She got nasty! It took so little, too, as kindness to this woman means that she doesn't kick the dog, she poisons the goldfish instead! She immediately snapped that it was HER house.

Me: You've made that abundantly clear.

Her: You need to clean that up. I've had people who haven't scoured pots.

(Yes, I never follow her train of logic either, but since she is utterly and completely OBSESSED with cleanliness it doesn't matter.)

She starts down the stairs. I follow. We hurl insults at each other.

Now we are standing in the middle of the kitchen. I am about ten inches taller. This is primitively sweet.

Her (approximate height and size of troll, big eyes that could double for Linda Blair's in The Exorcist): Clean that up!

Me: Ask me NICELY.

Her: I did before!

More tense accusations.

Finally:

Her: You are SO nasty.

Me: You're a horrible person.

The End.

I cleaned up the stupid sink, which didn't even look dirty, and left. Then promptly called everyone I knew to complain bitterly about this Wanker.

The moral of the lesson, boys and girls, is never move in with ANYONE over the age of fifty. Unless they are the NICEST GODDAMNED PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!! I now know that there are truly horrible people on this planet. I mean, people who are crazier than anything you're gonna find on Jerry Springer.

As I am a writer, I will have my revenge, however. She will feature prominently in a book or short story entitled The Landlady, and she will end up plummeting off the Sears Tower. Literary revenge is the best way to go in times like these.

To get it all out of my system, here are the adjectives I can best think of to describe Hell Spawn:

Controlling
Moody
Unhappy
Sour
Paranoid
Obnoxious
Aggressive
Loud
OCD
Hater of women
Lover of men!
Narcissistically Wounded
Critical
Nosy as Hell
Rude
Inappropriate!
Just Plain Mean

And that's it, gentle reader. Thank you for tolerating this obsessive writer. Dare I ask you to believe I am a kind soul who shoveled this woman's driveway repeatedly?

I am no saint, but soon I will write from a new, better abode.

And God said, it was good.

And that short story/book is sounding mighty good.

May all your days be kind.