Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Mr. Crazy-Pants

This is my new word. Like a smarty-pants, but drives me crazy.

Like my neighbor, who gets her exercise by walking in the hallway of our apartment building. Except there are only 6 apartments on each floor and it takes maybe 10 steps to get from one end of the hallway to the other. And she always tries to ask me nosy and complicated questions that I can't understand, but talks quickly like she doesn't have a minute to spare. Then when I say (used to be politely, now throught gritted teeth), "Sorry, I don't understand [ting bu dong] says "Ting bu dong! Ting bu dong!" like I'm putting her out. So as when I see her I will: "Miss Crazy-Pants, please don't talk to me today."

Or out in service, when I see a man with a mouthful of betel nut catch my eye. Mr. Crazy-Pants, please don't talk to me. And when he does: Mr. Crazy-Pants, please don't spit out that betel nut in front of me.

Or at work: Miss Crazy-Pants, I just walked in the door. Please give me 5 minutes to put down my bag, wipe the sweat off my face, get a cold drink of water, and then I will nod happily in response to your long story about something that affects me not at all.

It even works on me in my less fine moments: Miss Crazy-Pants, why did you use the hem of your polyester shirt as a pot-holder? (Don't worry, it was only $100 NT, and I only burned myself a little.)

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