Stop Oulling, You Pervert!

Really! It never rains, but it pours, I swear. It must be a full moon, or something, because the world's gone mad. Today has been most interesting, in a "May you live in interesting times" sort of way. I don't think I've got it in me to describe it. There were crazy, novella-length harangues in my e-mail box, Purolator men with dangerous butterfingers, and, of course, a thousand and one minor buggeries waiting in the wings.

I'll talk about the Purolator man, because the rest is quite mundane. I was tidying up this morning, when the telephone went. I've got to tidy up all week, because the landlord is coming to inspect the premises next Tuesday. My flat isn't messy, or anything, but I've got to have it extra-nice to soften the shock of Stella's presence. He said I could have rats here when I moved in, but I'm not sure a rat the size of a kitten was quite what he had in mind. So there I was, on my knees under the computer desk, coaxing inkstains out of the carpet. I'm not an untidy drawer, but dots of ink the size of pinheads still manage to splatter themselves all round my chair. I don't know how they do it. I--I'm on a tangent. What was I saying?

Oh, right. The Purolator man. The buzzer went, and I answered. I buzzed him in. He had two packages with him: a wee one with two pots of ink in it, and a big one full of paper. Both were from Curry's art shop.

"Thanks," I said, reaching for the smaller package. He let go of both boxes, and the large one fell down and bonked me on the head. I started to laugh, and the resulting shaking of my head sent the package sliding down my face. The Purolator man tried to catch it, and shoved the corner into my eye. "Augh," I yipped, dropping both packages on the floor. An eyelash had been driven up under my eyelid, and was itching like billy-oh. I signed for the delivery and got rid of the man with two left hands as quickly as possible, then retreated to the bathroom to fish out the eyelash. It took several tries, and my eyeball turned bright red.

Shortly thereafter, I began to sneeze. At first, I thought I'd caught a cold, but then my eyes started watering and my nose got stuffed up: bloody allergies, again. I must have stirred up some dust while I was cleaning. Dust up the nose--just lovely. I rubbed ice all over my head to get rid of that nasty infected feeling you have with allergies. I stared absent-mindedly at the television, but I couldn't see it properly without my specs on, and with my eyes all swollen. Time passed. I noted its passage, and frantically set about getting some work done. It went only moderately well. No stellar bursts of inspiration today, I'm afraid.

Here's another unfortunate thing that happened to me this week (and which I didn't see coming): an old lady butted in front of me at the corner store. Some old people think they can do whatever they like because of their age. There I was, struggling towards the counter with a huge armful of fruit cans (nosh for Stella), topped off with a sixpack of loo roll and a bottle of distilled water. I was almost there, only a foot or two away, when this dreadful harridan saw me coming and rushed to butt in front of me. She pushed right in from behind, almost bowling me over in her haste, and tucked herself between me and the counter. Thus installed, she proceeded to buy and scratch several lottery tickets while I waited. She won twenty dollars. I leaned dizzily against the candy rack, cursing fortune. Part of my left hand went to sleep from the biting of a can-rim. (After a thousand hours of standing, that part of my hand turned black and fell away. It grew into a mushroom on the floor. Then, the store turned into a forest full of delicious fruit, and I ate and ate, without having to worry about paying for the meal. There was a hammock between two trees, and I curled up there and slept for twelve hours straight. When I woke up, the whole city was a forest, and it was always summer, and everyone just ate stuff off trees. There were no Visa bills any more, and no rent, and no televisions that switch themselves on in the middle of the night. The sun rose and set, and rose and set, and rose and set,*) and then the old bag left. The shop turned back into a shop. My purchases were rung up, and my Visa came within two dollars of its limit. I went home. Stella bit me when I fed her some of the canned fruit. Life went on in the ordinary manner.

Next week, I'll be able to knock seven hundred dollars off that damn bill: there's the silver lining! If they'd only stop charging interest for a while, I could catch up. I hate credit cards.

Twelve years ago, I told some kid in my class that "oulling" was Scottish slang for masturbating, and he believed me.

And with that, I am once more at a loss for words. What a month!

* The part in brackets didn't really happen.