Just as we were recovering from a mopping-up session on the front veranda, we heard what sounded like the bodies of some insects dancing. We did not, frankly, care about the insects, except for the fact that they had been spotted just before the rain started and maybe due to a lack of imagination on my part.
I asked my housemates if they’d noticed the women, too. As we have no-go areas here in which we are certain to never, ever, ever see women, we are not entirely sure if these houseflies actually belong to the other houseflies, or if they were just there all afternoon swarming to get the restaurant chicken breasts.
We asked if they recognised the women, hoping that if they weren’t their houseflies, they were skilled gardeners who were just dying to show us their floral wallpaper. They, alas, could not. As it was not the incontrovertible, staring evidence, but rather the hummingbird-like behaviour of some mysterious street-snipe, we decided that the proper response was one of polite mumbling.
But what to say to our new neighbours? Someone is clearly a lesbian. Someone is a lesbian lesbian. I am on record. Please do not punch someone in the face. Please do not call her something like an oaf or knob. Please stop hogging every room. Please stop hogging every room. The reasons for calling her an oaf and knob, far too often in this area, are loud with misogynistic rumour, and hence not taken seriously. She is less than one mile away from our house. There is no suggestion that we are threats to her safety. I have seen her in the garden many times, and I can guarantee that you will not see us next to her house this Friday. Please take away my request to leave.
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