Wie Kostet?

Dear me, I’m in a foul mood today. As I type this I am listening to some highly substandard jazz shit. It’s almost a soundtrack to a Channel 5 late night ‘film’. Only they’ve gone upmarket now, which is a lot more than I can say for Evil German Woman. I like to think I have some judge of character, and this woman is dodgy.

Yes, I think it’s about time to vent my considerable spleen about this godawful woman. I have nothing nice to say about her. Everything about her is fucking annoying. She’s leaving in two weeks. I’m worried I might suffer an aneurysm before this date.

She looks just like Jade from Big Brother (passim). This is highly unfortunate. She’s 26. She’s a homeopath. Or she’s training. Either way, I’m living with the German equivalent of a populist Barefoot Doctor. Already, it’s bad. Very, very, bad. Then there’s the fact that she has OCD. She cleans. Every. Fucking. Day. Sure, the house wasn’t that tidy, but it still isn’t. It’s just been bleached to within an inch of its life. The cushions have been washed (who, pray, washes the cushions?). The curtains have been stripped and washed. The bathroom has had a thorough cleaning, the likes of which normal people might venture to do on a dull Sunday in spring, twice. TWICE! She’s only been here two weeks. In other words, she is Herculean in her devotion to the dark arts. Today, she’s decided to clean the kitchen. As in ‘hey guys! I have a fun idea for this afternoon! Let’s empty the cupboards, clean the already clean plates, then clean the cupboards, then the containers, then..’ you get the idea. To the best of my knowledge, this is only done when moving house. Or if you have OCD.

Anyway, that’s annoying, but at least I get a clean (if not tidy, but I couldn’t really give a shit) house out of it. It’s her monumental quackery that’s really, really getting my goat. ‘Ach so, you haf eine tommy ache? I haf der pills vich vill make it gut. Hier, try it!’ No, thank you. Given that homeopathic medicines all have Latin names, it’s not too difficult to see what you’re getting. Runny nose? Allium Cepa. This is a couple of molecules of onion. Mixed with milk. But mixed in a special way! That’s what Von Smallhausen’s taking for his nose. I’ve pointed out several times that if he fucked up his nose when he was a kid, and it’s been runny ever since, and no amount of surgery or medication will improve it, I hardly expect this to. ‘Ah, yes, Emma. But it could work’. Although it was a happy day for me when he darkly insinuated that he was losing faith in it. Stick with the tissues, love. Oh, and she has a special treatment for gout. It’s basically dressed up finger drumming. FFS! He doesn’t even have gout! She hasn’t mentioned kidney rubbing yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Maybe I’ll tell him about it tonight ‘I saw it on the internet – it makes gout better because the toxins built up by [insert made-up medical jargon] will dissipate!’ God, anyone can be a doctor, and this is what really, really, pisses me off about that attitude. And the attitude of ‘well, we can’t explain why, but it really, really works!’. Yes. That’s the placebo effect. Gah. Gah. Gah.

So, quite frankly, I’ve never hated anyone with so much venom. She doesn’t know it though. Although she might have heard my hissy ‘fuck off’ when she had the temerity to pick up Von Smallhausen’s mobile phone when I rang. It’s his phone, love, not yours. Quite apart from that, I don’t want to have to listen to your hissy, guttural voice stabbing at my eardrums. I told him. After a preliminary discussion on the ethics of picking up other’s mobile phones, we were in agreement that it was wrong. Triumphantly, I went to stick a huge knife in her back – ‘ah, I phoned you yesterday and she picked it up’
‘Oh, that’s different. She’s a friend’

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I’m up against the Terminator. She who can do no wrong because she waltzes around the house in her underpants (oh, how subtle. Shame about the cellulite.), listening to quasi-pornographic music, giggling at his jokes. Well, they might be jokes. I don’t speak German. His jokes are crap anyway. Take this one:

A man gets onto a bus with a fish under his arm. The conductor looks at the fish, and says ‘ah, that must be your dinner!’. The fish looks at the man and haughtily declares ‘bah, no, we’re going to the theatre!’.

Oh, how I laughed.