Just back from marching thru the ‘Hood with Ruby the Corgi.
ICK! What a weird morning. It’s overcast…and hot! Doubt if it will rain — that would cool it off, eh? None o’ that nonsense in these sylvan pastures!
😀
We strolled down into Lower Richistan, an affluent neighborhood to the south of the ‘Hood. The houses are older and, oddly, not very interesting. Not an area that I would choose to live in, if I had that kinda money.
While strolling: Contemplate the latest weird predicament.
Yesterday a pair of women showed up at my front door, identifying themselves as state social workers. Somebody had reported me as a victim of abuse!
Yeah…right: admire this black eye, eh? /s/
Holeeee shee-ut!
Apparently some “friend” of mine — which one it is, I think I know — decided out of the blue that my son is being abusive to me.
Got that?
My son: the guy who drives me from pillar to post, who helps with the paperwork, who arranges appointments for me at the Mayo and drives me way to hell & gone out there, who runs interference with the bank when I screw up my books….on and ever-so-abusively on. /eyeroll/
So I had to fend off that pair of fruitcakes. Whether I succeeded in getting rid of them, I do not know…but very much doubt it.
I probably need to call a lawyer and get him or her lined up and armed for battle. Problem is, mine croaked over a few weeks ago…and I don’t have anyone to take his place.
WhatEVER could have possessed my “friend” to pull a damnfool stunt like that?
The sheer hassle factor…oh gawd! It makes me cringe!
Well, she’s not my “friend” any more. I won’t have another thing to say to her after this.
And…after this I won’t answer the door, not unless I’m expecting someone and I can see that the desired “someone” is out there.