srah blah blah

How many landladies does it take to change my oven?

Last night I dreamt that I was at an American football game in Vichy and I called my landlady on my cell phone. The guy in front of me turned around and said, "How do you know Mme Messana?" "She's my landlady," I replied. "Oh. She's my mother," he said. His name was Olivier and we adopted him into our group of English Assistants even though he was French, in his 30s, and prematurely balding.

Alex called me in the morning and we were talking when the doorbell rang. It was earlier than expected but I was waiting for a package, so I answered the door and it was Mme Messana. Apparently the deal has finally gone through and she had come to look over the building.

I went back to Alex. "Not my package, just my landlady," I explained. We continued talking and the doorbell rang again so I went to get my package and returned to Alex a bit disappointed. "Not my package, just another landlady," I explained Mme Alléas' arrival.

What an excessive number of landladies! My package finally arrived the third time the bell rang, but I opened it rather hesitantly, wondering if it was going to be another landlady I hadn't seen yet.

The happy end to the story is that I now have an oven that works!

srah - Wednesday, 13 November 2002 - 5:03 AM
Tags: apartment, assistantship

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