Hmmmm, curious. Today at lunch, I had a brief visit with Pierreangelo- our landlord. (Pierreangelo, like Michael-angelo, only it's Pierre...Sir Topham Hatt calls him "Perry-Angelo")
PA is always in a hurry- sometimes his mom calls him when he's been here too long....I mean calls him from across the street- she yells, I don't mean on the phone, well, she has done that too. He tells me that he works hard and I believe him. They have a big yard and several rental properties. He went to the beach this past weekend and to the spas in Croatia before that.
The doorbell buzzes at lunchtime. Of course, this sends Skarloey (aka Fonzie) into a barking frenzy. PA is standing there (next to our little garbage bag with dirty diapers in it) wearing black jeans and shirt- ruggedly tan with a cross pendant necklace that has some sort of shiny gem on it. I open the door and he smiles and says, "Oh, just let him run free." Ummm, yeah, the last time we let Skarloey run free, he RAN INTO our neighbor's house! He just zipped right through the front door like he owned the place- the proprietors were outside and they didn't notice right away....I had to tell them in my broken Italian......I was trying to talk quickly as I didn't know what Skarloey was DOING in there!
After I get the dog kenneled and pick up Percy who is now crying, he hands me this wet, opened bottle of wine and tells me, "Don't worry about this, drink it, you like sugar?" Uh, sure, I mean who doesn't like sugar? Ahhh, I get it, it's a sweet wine. He says he just filled this.....ummmm...ok- maybe from a giant cask in his basement?
I take the sweaty bottle and turn to see him glancing at the girls' lunch. Oh, great, they are having Morningstar Farms corndogs- ...hey, it's hard to come up with an exciting lunch menu for 2 discriminating engines. I see him looking at their plates- corndogs and scrambled eggs, yeah, we're Yanks.
So, he then says, "Your, uh, man, tells me that you need a garden. You can come to my house, you can just bring your (he gestures- something round with his hands- my a**, I am thinking? I can bring my a** over there?) and come over with the children. I speak to my mother and tell her it's okay." Has he not learned that you have to ask your mom first and then ask the person- moms don't like to be put on the spot like that.....
Then he leaves. I am left with the sweaty bottle. I might as well wait for my man to come home- that way if there are any problems and we fall victim to some obscure pathogen...no, that won't work, because he would have issues too...okay, it's up to you people, if you haven't heard from me in say a week, send help- that would mean the children are living off those whole wheat bunny crackers.
Comments