FCN neighbour called the cops on us yesterday. It'd be upsetting if it weren't so ludicrous. The nice policeman came upstairs to talk to the Boy as soon as he got to the door, as the Boy was the only tenant to answer the outside doorbell. The Boy was told that there had been a complaint about a "propane smell." The cop was bewildered, as he could clearly smell no gas. "Is she..." he trailed off. The Boy nodded wearily.

The cop went down to speak to her, and was rewarded with an eyeball-drying litany of imaginary tenant sin, including such top 40 hits as "They Never Take Out Their Garbage!" (which I suppose is why she yelled at us last month for helpfully taking out her garbage as well as our own?) "They Had a Pet When They Weren't Supposed To!" (I miss Cuddles the guinea pig more than ever now) "They're Keeping a Propane Barbecue Up There!" (she's got us there) and our new #1 song: "He Smokes Drugs All Day Long, But He Opens the Windows to Get Rid of the Smell Before My Father or the Cops Get Here!" (uh huh)

(We're considering taking a Polaroid on garbage day that includes us, our garbage, and a current issue of the Toronto Star. We can tape it to her door and it'll shock her sane! Or, you know, not.)

I don't know. It's alternately horrifying & hilarious. Maybe we're overly mellow because we've had 2 relatively quiet nights and we're giddy from all the deep REM.

This morning as the Boy walked me down to the car, we could hear strange hissing (or maybe kissing) noises coming from behind her door. I laughed derisively, not bothering to keep my voice down. After the Boy & I kissed goodbye, he discovered that the front door was locked. Can you imagine? She snuck down the front stairs in the minute it took me to get settled into the car so that she could spitefully lock out a man in pyjamas & slippers. Again, it's so ludicrous as to be pitiable rather than infuriating. Like, how old is she?

Answer: way too old to be fully supported by elderly parents as a shut-in with multiple physical impairments. Get this - her doctor, who indulges her "illness" by making house calls, doesn't think there's anything wrong with her mentally. It's totally tragic when you think about it. Imagine being really mentally ill and surrounded by people who look after your physical needs while leaving you to sink deeper & deeper into madness. Of course, it's easier to feel bad for her when you're not subject to her whims, delusions & rages.

Final note: she's keeping the house way too hot. I was pissed at first, but now I welcome it as a chance to wear my maternity shorts for a few more weeks. My own personal igloo.

Booty Call: Day 214 - Testes descending from the abdomen, if it's a boy. Baby's brain and nerves are developing, and directing bodily functions.