Today I am in the bad books of our neighbour, Aunty Face.
The situation with Aunty Face began innocuously with the discovery of illicit chocolate consumption by Clear Sky. I was dashing out the door to go and do the shopping, Clear Sky was on one of her jaunts and happened to be hanging out next door with Hair Clip.
As I bent to kiss her bye, I noticed her mouth was stuffed full of what looked suspiciously like the bright green synthetic Thai cake. Clear Sky’s expression of glee and concentrated chomping was the confirmation I needed. Everybody got a stern reminding that Clear Sky was not supposed to be fed sugar and e-numbers. Yes, even despite the fact that she loves them. At this point, Crab, never afraid of dobbing a pal in, informed me that Aunty Face had been feeding her chocolate but she, valiant Crab, had told her in no uncertain terms that Clear Sky was not allowed to eat it and had removed it from her chompers.
Somehow the image of a Thai person preventing a child from consuming sweets seems a little unlikely, but top-marks for effort Crab. This discovery went a long way to explain why Aunty Face, previously the only person whose very presence reduced Clear Sky to tears, had been held in greater affection by her lately.
This lonely lady accosted Clear Sky on a daily basis as a newborn grabbing her from whoever was holding her and taking her off to her air-conditioned shack. From where she would return two minutes later propelled by Clear Sky’s howls of indignation. It got to the point where Clear Sky would start to complain the minute she heard Aunty Face’s voice. Personal space was not a concept this woman was familiar with.
Aunty Face also has a slightly anti-social habit of burning plastic on her land right next to our bedroom. I have usually thrown a bit of a very English style wobbly when it happens, coughing loudly, stropping off in the car with Clear Sky clutched under one arm, not terribly effective.
Today, despite Shrimp’s protestations that it’s her land, she can do what she wants: you never bother your neighbours in this country of letting sleeping dogs lie, I decide that I will ask Aunty Face, if she could possibly stop burning dangerous chemicals, polluting the air everyone, including my baby girl whom she professes to love, is breathing. I will be happy to combine her garbage bags with ours and pay for them to be removed by the garbage truck. From where they will probably be burned somewhere else no doubt, but my baby may be able to sleep without poison in her lungs.
I will let you know what happens.
To be continued……