After night two of irritating in-ear whinge, I decided to get my big girl panties on and have a word with The Armpit re the breeding of mosquitoes for what seems like commercial reasons.
The Pant: (on phone) Armpit??!!??
The Armpit: Yebo (far too sing-song for 06h50).
TP: Where are you? I'm waiting for you and I'm going to be late for work.
TA: In the taxi! I'm coooooooooooming.
TP: You're coming? In a taxi? Good God.
TA: I woke up late. Sorrrrrryyyyyyyy.
Why she has to drawl her words out, I will never know. This speech impediment of hers, I must say, does have an irritatingly passifying effect on me and I have thus, to date, not been able to chastise her.
TP: Well, okay. Just get here as quickly as you can.
When she pulled in a good twenty-five minutes late sipping on a piping take-away cappucino from Vida-e, without one for me, I was less than charmed.
The Pant: (Right. Tell her what you think. Don't let her take advantage of you. And - whatever you do -DO NOT let her compliment you. You know how that makes you weak. Should not have worn this top... you know she likes it. Dammit.) Armpit, I need to-
The Armpit: Oooooh! I love your top. Makes you look so thin!
TP: Thanks. (Do not get taken in by her charm. She is wily. You know that. But.... Does it really make me look that thin?) Do you really think so?
TA: Yes, Pant. You look lovely.
TP: (Right. Now you've got to tell her. Say to her, "Armpit, you cannot use my plant pots to breed mosquitoes. I surely will get malaria and very sick and possibly end up in hospital and then what? Say it say it.) Would you like some tea?
TA: No thanks. I've got this cappucino. Mmmmm hmmmm . Except I'm going to put some more sugar in it. They only had six sachets left at Vida and it's still bitter.
TP: (So that's where all my sugar is going??? Get angry. Tell her no.) Oh, shame. I hate bitter coffee.
TA: Do you want some tea?
TP: (Say, "No thanks I would like to talk to you about something very serious and it involves the health of yourself and The Daughter) No thank-
TA: You going to be late, ne? Well, you better hurry.
TP: (She's right. I am going to be late. Perhaps ask her to wait until later to talk. Or can get one of Zulu teachers to draft sms. Better idea. No chance that she'll misunderstand.) You're right. See you later, okay?
TA: No. I won't be here when you get home. I've got to go the ... um ... um ... clinic?
TP: Oh. (Yeah right. Whatever!) Alright. I'll see you on Friday then?
TA: Yes. And don't forget to buy Tabard. Your mozzies in your pot plants are driving me nuts.