Not Another Dee Story?
Maggie and I left the house via the front door with the intention of walking around a bit. Fresh air and (for me) exercise. As I was locking said door, I noticed Dee rounding the corner near our house.
Trapped.
She yelled, "what do you think you're doing?" Which is a really odd thing to say to someone who is standing on her own front porch locking her own front door. Then, when I turned, "oh, I didn't recognize you. I thought you were breaking in." Which I suppose is good, in that she's looking out for us....
I'll just skip over the long and pointless paranoid rambling about stolen furniture.
I find it so difficult to politely extricate myself from "conversations" with Dee. They are absolutely one-sided; even if I say something relevant to what she just said, she doesn't seem to hear anything I say. After a bit, I excused myself, and she kept going. I walked away, and she just talked louder. I was half a block away, and she was still bellowing something about her Edwardian dresser. It's almost narcissistic: my imaginary crisis is more important than whatever you're up to. (No way of knowing how imaginary the crisis is, either: it's possible that her brother has been carting stuff away, and that she's inventing robbers to explain why stuff is vanishing. Or maybe it's all in her head.)
Sigh.