"We need to sell our townhouse and move somewhere else." I say this to Big Dave and he is blissfully munching on a piece of pig intestine at our farmers' market.
Just a few moments earlier I ran into Jillian, a nosy bossy neighbor of mine who has been stalking me all summer trying to get me to volunteer for a neighborhood committee.
A few days ago she pounced on me as I was walking to my front door and I saw her coming, peripheral vision, but it was too late. My flip-flops were no match for her Nikes. She said I needed to fill out some kind of form regarding a construction request and I told her, I really hate forms. I worked for the government and that job left me with a deep-seated hatred of forms and meetings. I dropped that scalding statement in her lap and she replied, "Well, isn't that a sad story? You're going to fill this one out anyway." Drip, drip went the sarcasm from those nasty words.
And now she wants me to come sit at these useless committee meetings and hear her rattle on about how the mowing crew needs to cut the grass another 3/4 inch shorter. Seriously, I have seen the woman kneeling on the ground with a ruler.
So today again I am staring into her beady little eyes and I don't know why, I'll never know why but I answered yes to her request. It was too late the words were out there hovering above my head like a cartoon bubble with a tail pointing to my mouth. As much as I wanted to I could not pull them back.
Jillian stared at me in disbelief, her usual caustic attitude tampered down in the bright light of my acceptance. She even told me I would be good for the position because I am a thinker. For the remainder of our conversation she was pleasant and soft-toned and that must have killed her and she probably had to vomit after I left.
Drat, drat, drat.