Pleasantly off-putting.

I’ve returned home now that Mr. Woo no longer requires my services. While hanging out at chez Woo, I refrained from snooping. My definition of snooping is opening doors and drawers and shuffling things around. I did none of that; however, that doesn’t mean I didn’t make a couple of casual, hands-off observations. This was my favourite:

When I asked Alex for more information about the tape, he responded, “Hahaha, what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” which was spooky in itself.

I did not hear any unusual sounds–not that I ever do–but I witnessed unusual activities outside the house. Around sunset, all three nights I was there, the landlady would be doing yard work out front. One night, she stayed out for at least three hours. Within that time, she added a sea monster to the middle of the so-called lake.

In case you missed the Before picture, which I shared in the previous post:

After:

Note that the lake has a name:

As does the fish. Three names, in fact: Francis; Francis, aka Frank; aaka (also also known as) The Stoned Boy Koi.

Alex was at work today. He remarked that it was typical of the landlady to work on her project at nighttime. “Maybe she gets stoned and loses track of time?” I suggested.

“I don’t think she smokes.”

“The Stoned Boy Koi?”

Alex shrugged.

Under the influence of soft drugs or not, this lady is fun. I hope to return someday, not only for Mr. Woo’s cuddles but also for a mini golf showdown with Alex and his lady on the front lawn they’re renting.

The pièce de résistance, though?

A mask taped to a tree with a cut-out for its mouth.

There was no need to snoop around Alex’s place when all this was going on outside.

The best part of my three-night stay was hanging out with the disturbingly photogenic Mr. Woo.

Tomorrow afternoon, I get jab number two. I’m looking forward to being done with it while also not looking forward to finding out whether I’ll be among those who react poorly to the second dose. At least I’ll have shitloads of blueberries in the fridge. If I get so ill that I can’t move, it’s going to be the only thing I’ll be eating this weekend.

Am I crazy or is that a lot of gum blueberries?

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