There's this lady in my building who I can't get to say hi to me. Her name's Dora Fleckinger. It's not my wife, Chevrolet. She and I are solid as a rock, but a little harmless flirting never hurt.
I like to be friendly. I do all the normal things people do to greet each other. I leave hand-written notes in her mailbox telling her I can hear when she comes home at night. I wait for her on the front porch and glare intensely, trying force eye contact, barking, "Dora! I know you see me and I know your name!" I break into her house. The normal things. She just won't go for it.
It hurts to be rejected. Am I so bad? Is it my fault her husband left? I chased him away threatening to kill him if he ever came back, but he's the one who never came back. So I think we should share the blame, because I'd like to avoid responsibility on this this one.
Why did I chase him away? I'm pretty sure he was keeping bees in their house. I saw a bee once. It was probably his fault.
Listen, I don't like the guy.
So now she won't say hi. Won't even drop the restraining order. Hell, she won't even not mace me. Jokes on her - I got some nearly air-tight ski goggles that I wear all the time now. It only makes my glaring worse on her end. Plus, now I'm more ready than ever to ski.
But I think I'm slowly winner her over. She's dropped from two lawyers to one to prosecute me. I think it was a switch from quantity to quality, because this guy is really good. Like, when I called his office to threaten him he had me in jail in no time. But, overall, it turns out to be a good thing. We get a lot of good face time in court when she answers the question, "And is this man in this courtroom," and she answers, pointing to me, "Yes - he's right there." I wave and giggle like a little school girl with a crush, the bailiffs restrain me, my lawyer advises me to just shut up for once. It's a thing we do. It's our thing, me and Dora.
Maybe that's my problem. I'm too shy.