Stuart met with Perry today. Stuart asked me if I wanted to come, but I said I was busy at that time. I could see it might get ugly, didn’t want to be a part of that, and anyway, I had already given Stuart the figures.
Apparently, Perry ranted and raved, but Stuart wouldn’t have a bar of it. Not sure if Stuart is an alpha male, but he’s definitely at least a beta-plus. Loves a fight. Anyway, Stuart came to see me afterwards, bushy eyebrows still bristling. He was pleased with me, as all the figures and advice I’d given him were correct. Perry didn’t have a leg to stand on. So, now I suppose I’m glad I wasn’t kind to Perry.
Being in a good mood after work, I gave Donna a ring and we decided to go out for a drink. When I arrived to pick her up, Max waved to me from his front veranda, where he was lounging with his latest leggy. Surprisingly, she looked old enough to be his sister. I wasn’t sure whether I should wave back or not, so I sort of moved my hand backwards and forwards, but didn’t raise my arm.
The evening with Donna was a washout. If she’s not criticising something or other about me — top is too low, hair is too long, too much war paint, too friendly with men, too much eye contact — then she’s going on about crystals or astrology or something. I’m really getting fed up with her. She insists on ordering only organic food (I thought all living things were organic — they can’t be inorganic, can they, and they have to be one or the other) and then she goes outside for a smoke while they’re preparing it. I hope the tobacco is organically grown, so that her lung cancer will be the organic type. She does actually grow a lot of her own vegetables, which she calls organic, because she grows them. I asked her if she had ever had the soil in her garden tested, in case a previous owner used lots of snail pellets, dumped his car sump oil in it or chucked out a mercury thermometer. But, no. No testing. Just blind faith that what you grow in your own polluted garden is better for you than what you buy at IGA.
I’m going to give Donna a miss for a while. She needs to practise sometimes thinking things without saying them. I usually come home after an outing with her feeling worse than I did before I went out. She’s so full of strong opinions about things she isn’t exactly an expert on. She doesn’t believe in evolution, but she does believe in astrology. Her clinching argument is that evolution can’t be true because mules can’t have baby mules. I have to get some intelligent friends. One, at least. Yes, Donna. And the world is only 7000 years old. And flat. And man didn’t land on the moon. Anyway, I told her that I’m a Pisces and Pisces don’t believe in astrology. She seemed to accept that, although I think she’s going to check.