They call ME a gossip :(

So, there I was, calmly watching Vasolina sweeping her lawn (Gunther wouldn’t call himself a friend of the Dishwasher Man, but they bonded over lawns as Gunther was mowing ours and complaining a lot and the Dishwasher Man was sweeping theirs and complaining about the low quality plastic, which explains a lot both about Vasoline and her sweeping) when suddenly my smart phone rang. It was my friend Myrna, in the state of great distress, insisting that we meet up at our local Starducks for a cup of coffee. I started saying something about the prices and how I can invite her for coffee, lunch, and those little white round thingies I can’t remember the name of but they’re expensive, delicious, and come in golden wrappings, but Myrna interrupted me and said this was a private matter.

Long story short, Myrna has noticed that her husband Harry has been working late, going on a surprising amount of business trips (Harry sells bonds or stocks, I don’t know which is which) and when she accused him of having an affair with his secretary he said he had a very important zooom meeting. Which he actually did, so that was fair, only Myrna accidentally listened a bit and she is now convinced that Harry is having an affair with his secretary. Unless you say “love you” and “love you too, boss” during important zooom meetings about bonds and/or stocks. So, she accused him, and then he accused her of spying, and she explained that she was accidentally passing by the closed door and felt sudden weakness that caused her to lean against it so that her ear made accidental contact with the door, and then he said he was leaving (but not permanently, leaving as in departing to return at later time) and then Myrna sort of sobbed and I couldn’t stop laughing, because Harry has male pattern balding and everybody knows men with male pattern balding don’t have affairs.

She said I was a heartless b***h (!) and that she wishes she never confessed to me, but I am her closest friend, or rather, she said after she said she’s never going to speak another word to me, I used to be her closest friend, and then she assured four times whether I definitely understood that she will never say another word to me again before storming out and leaving me with the bill for two Starducks coffees, none of which we even picked from that bit where you go to discover your names are now Corona and Birma. So I, forgive me, dear Readers and Starducks, escaped, or rather left with full dignity intact, because, after all, my name is not Corona. (Crown, at least!)

So, a few hours later, I called my other best friend Ethel, to tell her in secret (because of course I would never spread gossip) about Harry’s affair despite him having male pattern balding. Very coolly, in that British way only the British people know and really it’s only the English which proves Scotland should be independent but I am digressing because I am dragging my metaphorical feet here a bit, Ethel told me that she already knew from Myrna, that Myrna was the most distraught, and that I was a gossip, calling other people (OTHER PEOPLE BEING ETHEL!!!!) to spread rumours (I was just telling her in secret, because I am very secretive!!!!!) and I betrayed Myrna’s confidentiality and also broke her heart by laughing. And that Harry’s secretary’s name was Robert. And Robert, who is a very attractive African-American-But-British man, shaves his head, which both Myrna and Ethel know, because Harry had a discreet display of family photographs on the desk where Myrna happens to be missing, together with their son Sebastian, and instead Harry and very attractive Robert are canoodling. Which, I could point out, was further betraying of Myrna’s confidentiality and also Ethel sometimes makes things up in a way that is not like mine since authors make things up all the time for living. But I didn’t. Then Ethel made sure about eleven times whether I know that she is never talking to me again, before I hung up because I was tired of this conversation, and then both Myrna and Ethel texted me to remind me they are never, ever talking to me again.

Tonight’s dinner will be very awkward. I should stock up on whisky (Harry), Aldi Strong beer (Gunther), sherry (Ethel), sherry (me), and sherry (Myrna). Might serve some food, too, if I calm my nerves enough to cook it in the microwave (the plastic packaging is so handy, because you don’t need to wash the dishes, which is why I also buy plastic cups and cutlery now and my kitchen is spotless). Hopefully after eight or so drinks Ethel and Myrna will stop telling me they are not talking to me. And Harry will break down in tears and tell us every sordid [I have to check what that means before I publish this post] detail.

I wonder how very handsome the shaven-headed Robert is? I idly wonder, not that I am curious or prying or attracted to most men who are not Gunther. (Except our neighbour Ray, who wears leather clothing despite not owning a motorcycle, and Paolo and Andreas, because they are gay homosexuals and also Andreas is vegan, but otherwise I must confess I would be rather interested in their exteriors, which is not to say I objectify men. But I digress.)

Please keep your fingers crossed tonight.

Apprehensively yours,

Karen xoxo