,
You know that you’re somewhat of an
annoyingly irritating houseguest, when an unexpected and unfortunate series of
events devilishly conspire against you, automatically labelling you the dreaded “visitor from hell”. So how did I find myself in such an unsavoury
predicament, a wacky but lovable ol’ Auntie, once gleefully greeted with open
arms, now mere seconds away from being kicked to the curb, over-packed luggage
in tow? And, this was just less than 24
hours into my long anticipated weeklong vaycay, with six more nights of
disruption looming ahead for my sister’s family, all of whom had unwittingly agreed
to put me up for the duration of my sojourn to my hometown of la belle
province. La ville de Montreal, to be
exact, as culturally close to Paris as I can possibly get, without having to
traverse the Atlantic.
Yikes!! How did it all spiral downhill from the
get-go?
Well, it all started when I accidentally
flooded the bathroom, unleashing a torrent of gushing water, bucket-loads of
H20 raining a tsunami of tidal-wave proportions on the floor below,
inadvertently creating an indoor waterfall of quite the unsightly stained
ceiling kind. The splatter of splotches rapidly
formed a free-flowing motif of varying hues of not quite golden blotches, a
visual reminder of you know who
permanently etched into the ceiling below.
Yikes!! Not the kind of lasting impression
that I had originally set out to make.
And well, you get the bucket…picture, I
mean.
Who knew that there were specific rules and
regulations to be strictly adhered to?
Such as, must stand directly underneath the showerhead, movements
restricted to not fiddling with the hand held nozzle - which inadvertently
somehow ended up slithering out from my sudsy grip, twisting, lurching and
contorting into a fountain of gushing aqua, consequently hosing down the
premises along the way.
Well, on the bright side, the floor did
need a good scrub.
Slipping and sliding as if on sheets of
ice, playing cat and mouse with that ever so elusive bar of soap, I came
perilously close to an unanticipated hospital stay as I splish-splashed and almost
gashed open my noggin in the tub of “bathe
at your own risk”. To add insult to
injury, my treacherous slippery tumble fell on deaf ears, replaced instead with
hostile shrieks of the most unpleasant kind, none of which I remember
(thankfully) due to an excruciatingly blinding headache, visions of twinkling
stars vividly dancing in my head.
Did I mention the near-electrocution
part? Who knew that I’d be risking life
and limb, let alone come dangerously close to frazzling my blonde box dyed grey
locks, just by blow-drying my hair? Who
knew that the bathroom wall socket was quite the temperamental thing-a-ma-jig, unable
to support the voltage of anything but an electric razor? Feel like I’m back in Europe, a handful of
converters in hand, frying the bejezus out of any electrical appliance in
sight, haphazardly causing several power outages along the way. Yikes!!
What next??
And almost last but not least, thought I’d
atone for my “erroneous ways” and
treat the family to a scrumptious home-made breakfast and scramble up a couple
of eggs, cheese and diced veggies for an omelet like none other, a killer five
star Michelin worthy repast. And the key
word is? Who knew that the microwave, on
the other hand, was an out of this world force to be reckoned with, a supersonic
wattage crazed monstrosity, zapping the life out of anything and everything in
sight? Let’s just say, a quick zap for
the eggies turned into a clean up like none other as oodles of oozy, gooey,
sticky, dripping splatters of mess had gone kablooey, detonating to smithereens
in the microwave. You can just imagine the
hoopla that unceremoniously followed.
 |
| Somehow my eggies didn't quite measure up to this delectable repast... |
Clean up was going great until I
un-elegantly hit the dirt and tripped over the cocker spaniel, which was
salivating and ravenously sniffing underfoot, scavenging for leftover crumbs
and scraps.
Could it get any worse?
I won’t even go into details about unsuspectingly
corking open the one and only bottle of red, an aged vintage collectable,
valued at quite the impressive coin at auction.
Oops. Hic.
I guess replacing it with an $11.00
supermarket boxed vino just wouldn’t be quite the same.
And so it goes…. six more days in the
house of calamity, with a cornucopia of mis-adventures to follow….
Come hang out in la belle
province as I re-discover my hometown, all the while pretending to be a tourist
traipsing about foreign lands, camera in one hand, guide book in the other,
continuously on the hunt for a patio with a view…. after all, one
wholeheartedly deserves a vino or two after all of that aimless traipsing
around!!
New summertime posting schedule
- Pink Sneakers on the Go will be posting every other Wednesday during the
months of July and August only and will resume regular weekly Wednesday posting
September onwards.
Next post – Wednesday July 30th
- Stay tuned for the continuation of cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora’s hilarious
escapades in la ville de Montreal. And,
of course, we can’t forget about Le Kid, who has adventures of her own to share
in upcoming posts.
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