Houseguest from Hell (Part II)

She’s baaaak

As I told you last week, my house guest from hell arrived as scheduled. Some things change and some things never change. My house guest from hell has indeed changed - - if anything, she has gotten worse. There are more wet towels strewn throughout the house. One must enter her room at one’s own risk lest you trip over boxes, shoes, and assorted paraphernalia.

I am so glad I opted to do my own decorating because as suspected, and as I wrote last week, she is a true Gnu Yawker with all the glitz, glitter, and sparkle one can muster. I wasn’t wrong either when I said in last week’s column that I would be encapsulated in sequins if left her on her own.

Would you believe, one of my gifts was a huge ball like ornament entirely covered in garish hot, and I do mean hot, pink sequins? I kid you not. They do make such things but probably only in Gnu Yawk.

Oh yes, I forgot — the sequined ball was full of miniature chocolate balls. Those were really quite good, I must admit.

Oh yes, another gift I received from her was a pocket calculator — not just an ordinary one. This calculator is faux jeweled. Faux sapphire for the number 1 & 6, faux emerald for the 2, 3, & seven, faux ruby for the eight & four, and faux citrine for the nine & zero. All the other buttons are faux diamonds. Bet you don’t have one. But then again, you probably don’t want one.

Well the mess has started — balled up tissues scattered here, there, and everywhere. She cavalierly tried to give me some nonsense that the balls of tissues were snow ball simulations. She thought it would add a kind of snow like quality for a Florida Christmas. Yeah, right. Vicky’s credo is "where it lays, it lies." This goes for wet towels, shoes, clothes, books, magazines, et al. Of course, she never remembers to take a towel out to the pool. I think it is my responsibility to make sure my guest has a wet towel to leave on the floor or bed.

I said to her, "let’s play a little word association game." When I say "coffee," what do you say? She immediately responded "tea." I complimented her on her response. I then said, "cat" and she immediately replied "dog." Good, I thought. We’re really getting somewhere. I went on with my little game and said "tissue." At a loss for words I prompted her with "wastepaper basket." Again, I continued with the word "pool" to which she responded "nice." I said "no, not nice — towel -- towel - towel — don’t forget to take a towel when you go in the pool."

It’s so frustrating. I guess there is some truth to the old adage "you can’t teach old dogs new tricks." But what the heck, she is my dearest and closest friend and we do put up with each other. I guess one of the reasons I am so fond of her is that I can beat her every time at Scrabble. I get on an ego trip and feel pretty darn good every time I whoop her. And for those of you who doubt my intellectual dictionary acumen, I was not the official scorekeeper. My house guest from hell keeps score, lest she accuses me of cheating.

Why do I put up with all of this? Simple! Vicky is my oldest and dearest friend and we have been through a lot together. She is always there for me and me for her. I am certain she puts up with my little idiosyncrasies from time to time. Although for the life of me, I can’t think of one failing quality in my demeanor.

Oh, by the way, I did have the last laugh so far and she won’t know about it until she reads this column. Remember the luminaries on Christmas eve driving through the various developments? Well, the Garden Isles Civic Association delivered more than 800 of them throughout the subdivision. It was a magnificent site for Santa to find his way.

On Christmas morning, I told my house guest from hell I was the designated block captain and it was my job to go up and down my street (both sides) and pick up the spent bags of sand and candles. I further told her that I was so tired, and would she please do me the favor and do the job.

Unhesitatingly, Vicky already in her black and white striped bathing suit, donned her sneakers and set out to pick up and remove all the spent luminaries. She looked like part of a chain gang dressed in black and white stripes hauling two huge garbage bags as she made her way up and down removing more than fifty or so spent luminaries.

Gotcha Vicky. Gotcha really good. You see, there’s no block captain. Everyone cleans up their own mess. Get the message?

Special Note: February 2005 - - She is baaaaaacccck  again - - come on back to see if my house guest improves with age as an Illinois resident rather than a Gnu Yawker.

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