Tuesday, July 22, 2008


This morning I was surprised out of a sound sleep by Mrs Stevie.

I was a bit muggy and feather-brained as it was a very-much needed sleep indeed, but I still managed to get into a respectable defensive posture in three seconds or so, rolling myself in the mattress so as to present nil areas of vulnerability to the vile haridan's fiendish attack modes while warning her off with my trademark falsetto warshriek. From inside my stifling antiballistic posturepedic carapace I could just see she had brought in reinforcements - The Stevieling.

This gave me pause. Mrs Stevie is in an almost constant state of strife with The Stevieling. It simply wasn't possible for them to form an alliance to do me harm, since they would never be able to shelve their own deep-seated differences long enough to co-ordinate maneuvers vis-a-vis my good self.

Which was why I actually complied with the demand to "stop being stupid, unroll and pay attention, idiot!"

Mrs Stevie handed me a glass of orange juice, which I naturally viewed with deep suspicion. I sniffed it, but didn't expect to detect the odour of bitter almonds since Mrs Stevie is far too sophisticated to introduce smelly pollutants into my food or drink. No odour. I thought for a minute but the only poison that was odourless that I could remember with any clarity was Iocaine powder, which has the singular property that it doesn't exist outside of the film The Princess Bride. Oh, I knew there were real odourless poisons, I just couldn't remember them.

"What's this?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Orange juice!" said The Stevieling. "We brought it for you as a treat."

I sipped thoughtfully on the juice as I formulated my witty response. Did the child think I was foolish enough to drink juice I hadn't witnessed being poured? I brooded silently, then handed Mrs Stevie the empty glass, still not sure how I would handle the situation.

"This is for you" said The Stevieling and handed me a bag containing a new Risk game for my collection. What on earth was going on?

Mrs Stevie then handed me an envelope that proved to contain a greeting card and three tickets to the last-but-one concert the reformed Police will perform, at Jones Beach.

What the hell was going on? Perhaps Mrs Stevie had done something she was apologising for, but that would be unheard of. Not the doing, the apologising. The Stevieling then insisted I come to the computer to watch an animation she had written staring an anime version of myself, which I did and which was charming and startling seeing as no-one showed her how to use the particularly twisty version of Flash I own. I never mastered it myself.

As the credits rolled it became obvious what the whole affair was about. I had quite forgotten.

I hope there will be cake.

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