It’s true what they say about sleeping and depression. Ms. M has surrendered herself to a 30 day transcendental siesta. Inconsolable doldrums that have escalated to a pitiful case of self isolation. Curiously, a notion of a dysfunctional thyroid has been suggested resulting in an appointment scheduled ASAP with Dr Delfanti.  An even more alarming scenario broke consciousness this morning, LIME DISEASE. She thinks she may have been compromised by a tic Ari found in the carpet over the Holiday. This sent Ms. M into such a tizzy she had the entire apartment professionally fumigated and steam cleaned. All bedding, clothing items, anything textile and mobile sent out to various appropriated cleaners. I endured a commitment straight away to The Duke and Duchess Doggie Salon for “The works”.  Yes, her waves of suffering have crashed on my shore. A “woe is me” tsunami of sorts.  It doesn’t take a visit from Dr. Watson’s sidekick to detect the true culprit here. Ms. M is suffering from a bankrupt sacred bond of sisterhood. Nestled in a month long fermentation of neglect. The Bff has been completely unavailable. Abandoned by her dearest companion and confidant Ms. M exudes a total void of will. Not an inkling of passion to be found for anything except unfortunately FOOD. The idea that one looses their appetite when depressed must be on a case by case basis. There has been an 18 lb. spike as of today’s weigh in. Ms. M has ordered so much take out delivery food that Tuesday’s summoning of the Goddess Grocer delivery service actually ended in a physical run in with the Pasta Bowl restaurant van. Both en route with our orders.  The circumstance behind the accident was embarrassing enough indeed but a crowd gathering verbal dual commenced to boot. This between the two drivers right in front of our door. Claiming their stage in the hall, Ms. M did her best to accommodate from the doorway but felt insecure wearing only a stained Tee shirt, (last night’s pumpkin curry) and socks. Ari had little luck with calming things down as no one could translate. Ms. M gained yet another link in her chain of disappointments when she realized the pasta order did not survive.

While keeping audience to the drivers squabbling tango, Ms. M noticed SHE was becoming the center of another’s entertainment. From across the hall a tall gentleman outfitted in black knee high boots, overcoat and hat, displayed a great deal of amusement over this unpleasant corridor confrontation. In addition she felt he was becoming just a little too familiarized with her minimal attire. His lingering glare was a bit sinister in nature. Sending him off a rather firm look of disdain, Ms M got back to the quarreling quagmire at hand.  She brought down the curtain on their delivery theatrics with a respectful but boisterous demand. “PLEASE GENTLEMEN, You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube so lets JUST get on with this shall we? WHAT PRAY TELL  IS THE AMOUNT DUE?!!!”
Their near violent performance stopped cold. With bewildered  expressions ( not quite understanding the first part of her outburst) they each handed her a paper invoice.. of sorts. Ms. M then summoned Ari to retrieve her wallet and the two were given a more then generous tip for their trouble. I guess when all is said and done money takes center stage.

She bid them adieu but not before sending off another little ocular curse to the still annoyingly intrigued hallway rubbernecker.