So like Mary comes screaming over to us the other day "Sally is coming! Sally is coming!"
Sally is our 5-foot, 3-ton, intimidating, big-mouthed land lord who has the whole of this city running for the hills whenever she's back in town.
They live in the West Indies at the moment but they won't $%&£ing stay there!! They came back last year, and the year before, and now this year.... aggghhh! Everyone we know in town knows them (they're truly infamous in these parts) and they'll all be bunkered down in the storm cellers (if we had them) for the duration of her visit. All I know is we'll be GONE. Where, I dunno, but GONE.
Anyway, ever since the phone call warning Mary that she's coming to visit next month, our poor mommy has been running around with her head up her hole. Weeding the planting beds at 7am (ummmmm, we do have a gardener that does that?) sending our gardener to ask us if it's ok for him to buy an ass-load of chicken manure to spread on the lawn to green it up pronto, freaking about the state of the pool....
The poor thing. See these people still pay her a monthly wage even though they're not living here, because they know otherwise someone will pinch her and take her away from the property (she really is that good!) but this extra wage, on top of what we pay her, is for looking after the plot on the whole. So if Sally comes back and sees one thing out of place or one blade of brown grass, poor old Mary gets the what-for.
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