I was trying to read. The Arthur Conan Doyle event may have turned out to be fully booked (dammit), but I still have the entirety of The Lost World to get through before my book club on Thursday. Combined with a layering of several other reading adventures, I am a busy woman this weekend.
The buzzer went again. And again. I heard other buzzers echoing around the building. Some complete arse was doing the thing I hate - buzzing every flat over and over in a bid to find someone who will let him in. Buzz, hang up. Buzz, hang up. I became convinced that it was actually some stupid teenagers (how I despise stupid teenagers) playing a prank.
On went the fleece and the slip-on shoes. Keys shoved into pocket. I stampeded downstairs, slammed my thumb against the red button and tore open the front door. The thin Chinese man immediately cowered as the piercing blues I inherited from my fraternal grandfather drilled into him. I was, as Doyle would say, “effervescing with fight.”
“You’re buzzing everyone in the building; it’s driving me nuts. Do you just WANT IN?”
Without waiting for him to answer, I turned and pounded my way back up the stairs. I sensed him, light as air, tip-toeing up the steps behind me. I opened my door, threw my keys on the floor and let the door shut with a resounding click.
Quietly, gently, the mail slot in my door opened an inch. Through it came a bright red takeaway leaflet.
Why, universe? Why do you mock me? Why do you waste trees creating takeaway menus to give to fat chicks? Go away! Go and leave me to my insufferable cravings!
You impervious, vile bastard!
Plastic Santa
15 hours ago
2 comments:
Facing the wrath of your eyes - that poor, poor mad.
If I had a job delivering leaflets I'd just chuck em in the nearest bin and say I delivered them. I was brought up the Glaswegian way.
Now, now. The Universe knows what it's doing.
Besides, it's the only one we've got. You might as well make the best of it.
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