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Burning Down the House

I should mention to those who follow this blog regularly, that there will be no mention of Napoleon, Catherine the Great, or Cocker Spaniels in this post. I mention it for no particular reason other than my desire to never disappoint my fans. For newcomers, never mind.

Ms. Wonder, whom I'm sure you know moves in mysterious ways her wonders to perform, had refilled my supply of omega capsules. She's thoughtful like that. Unfortunately, she'd mistakenly gotten the brand with lots of omega 6. She didn't realize that the more evolved species of omega is not good for my arthritis and so after the morning visit to Native Grounds, I was off to Jerry's Vita-Rama to get the preferred brand.

When I entered the store, a familiar face greeted me from behind the counter.

"Are you sober?" I said.

"Are you crazy? Of course, I'm not sober.," he said. "That man broke my heart. Listen and I will tell you a tragic story. It's a story of deceit and lost love. It's a story of...."




"Yes, we've been through all that before," I said, not meaning to be callous, but hey! We all have our limits and I'm well acquainted with mine.

"Well, then you know the story," he said.

"I do."

"Then why did you ask me if I'm sober? You must be drunk?" he said.

"Not since January 1991," I said.

"Well, there you are then," he said and he gave me an appraising eye. For the first time I noticed that he wore a purple shirt with silver crescent moons. I remember thinking that only a fat, bald guy could pull it off so well. Then he said, "Why are you here anyway?"

"I brought back some Omega capsules. They're the wrong ones."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Well, I don't mean to say that something is wrong with them. I just mean they aren't right for me."

"Why not?"

"They have far more omega 6 than is good for innocent bystanders. The inflammation you see."

"Who said omega 6 is pro-inflammation?" he said with an eye that told me he didn't believe it.

"I don't have the sources on me but take my word for it, I can't use them."

"The claims on the bottle haven't been verified by the FDA anyway so what difference does it make?"

"Are you sure you work here?" I asked

"I'm just saying," he said.

"And I'm just saying that I'm going to return them and get the ones I want, which is omega 3 with 600 DHA and 240 EPA."

"You don't have to be snippy."

"Sorry," I said, "was I snippy?"

"Snippy is what I said. Why do you take them anyway?"

"Not for the reasons on the bottle," I said.

"Very wise," he said, "and if you want to keep it a secret, you can trust me to be silent as the tomb."

"Thank you," I said.

"Of course," he said.

The door tinkled behind me and the expression on his face told me that either the angel Gabriel had walked through the door to announce the onset of Judgement Day or else Lucy Lupe Mankiller, Dark Mistress of the Greater Durham Night, was with us. It turned out to be the latter. She wore the total package: the clothes, the hair, the makeup. She looked like a crazed clown in a horror film.

"Morning, Lucy," I said.

"Don't use that wimpy kid crap on me, you worm! You abandoned me at the coffee shop in mortal need of rocking some dark magic and not a single witch in the house." She brushed her blouse as though it had been contaminated with vampire-cat hair.

Then in a different tone of voice, she asked, "Do I look like a zombie on crack?"

"Not my first impression," I said, still having the deranged clown image in my head. It felt good to be honest for a change.

The purple-shirted one, who had been standing behind the counter opening and closing his mouth like a grouper in an aquarium, said in a breathless undertone, "You burn down the house, girl."

Lucy looked at him for the first time and her expression changed in a way that's hard to describe but I'm sure you've seen it before in young women when they meet someone they think may turn out to be special in some way such as having a lot of money or not living with their parents. Then she spoke in a voice that differed markedly from the one she'd just hammered me with.

"Most fly eyeliner," she said.

"Sweet of you to notice," he said.

Lucy stepped forward and offered her hand. He brushed the back of it with his fingers. "Enchante," she said and I'm not so sure she didn't curtsy just a little.

I grabbed hold of the counter to steady myself and looked through the window in the direction of the horizon, which I'm told is handy when the world seems to be spinning 'round. Some days you can't do any better than staying tethered and letting the wild winds blow.