She's doing this on fucking PURPOSE.
I hear water running. I'm like, huh? But it's not like the cats could turn on the water. It must be from the pipes upstairs or something. Whatever. Ignore it.
It is from the pipes upstairs. It's something coming out of the pipes somewhere upstairs and raining down through my ceiling onto all my clean dishes and my floor, making my ceiling tiles into sand and vomiting the mud into my kitchen.
I go out the back door. My upstairs neighbor's daughter is going upstairs. I ask her if there is a leak. She looks at me, confused. I follow her upstairs and ask her mother if something is leaking. It doesn't appear to be like last time when they left the water running and overflowed the sink onto the floor and into my kitchen. She's standing in the kitchen now. I tell her that my ceiling is coming down again. She looks around and says, "Oh. It must be my dishwasher." In the same way you might say, "Oh. It must be my perfume" if someone asked, "What smells like flowers?" Like it's NO BIG FUCKING DEAL. Then she glances down. "Oh, it's all over my floor, too." In the same way you might say, "Oh, it's 5:00." "Yes, it must be my dishwasher," she concludes.
"Well. I'm glad I know," I say. And I see her cigarette butts in her ashtray, and I am insanely jealous, and where the FUCK did she get a dishwasher? Then I go downstairs and look at my sandy dishes and want to scream "FUCK FUCK FUCK" but merely hiss it savagely so she won't hear it over the crappy music she's listening to loudly, and claw at my sleeves, wishing against all wishes that I had a FUCKING CIGARETTE AND A DISHWASHER TO WASH MY FUCKING DISHES THAT ARE ALL COVERED IN MUD!
AAAAAUGH!!!!
It is from the pipes upstairs. It's something coming out of the pipes somewhere upstairs and raining down through my ceiling onto all my clean dishes and my floor, making my ceiling tiles into sand and vomiting the mud into my kitchen.
I go out the back door. My upstairs neighbor's daughter is going upstairs. I ask her if there is a leak. She looks at me, confused. I follow her upstairs and ask her mother if something is leaking. It doesn't appear to be like last time when they left the water running and overflowed the sink onto the floor and into my kitchen. She's standing in the kitchen now. I tell her that my ceiling is coming down again. She looks around and says, "Oh. It must be my dishwasher." In the same way you might say, "Oh. It must be my perfume" if someone asked, "What smells like flowers?" Like it's NO BIG FUCKING DEAL. Then she glances down. "Oh, it's all over my floor, too." In the same way you might say, "Oh, it's 5:00." "Yes, it must be my dishwasher," she concludes.
"Well. I'm glad I know," I say. And I see her cigarette butts in her ashtray, and I am insanely jealous, and where the FUCK did she get a dishwasher? Then I go downstairs and look at my sandy dishes and want to scream "FUCK FUCK FUCK" but merely hiss it savagely so she won't hear it over the crappy music she's listening to loudly, and claw at my sleeves, wishing against all wishes that I had a FUCKING CIGARETTE AND A DISHWASHER TO WASH MY FUCKING DISHES THAT ARE ALL COVERED IN MUD!
AAAAAUGH!!!!