“I know Mrs. Dunwoodie volunteered her services in chiromancy at
Ruthlessly following the HOA protocol Mrs. Dunwoodie positioned her Viking helmet on her head, armed herself with her ax and in denial of her own promethean personality destroyed all evidence of her neighbor’s decorative expressions of same.
“Being a skilled gradgrind, Mrs. Dunwoodie eventually gets under your skin and into your closets,” warned Mr. Fenster. “But you may not realize it until the skeletons are rattling out.”
“You may have heard Mrs. Dunwoodie referring to herself as a 21st Century woman,” said Mr. Fenster, “but the only thing neoteric about her is her knee replacement.”
“If my Viking helmet doesn’t discourage that cat burglar from terrorizing
, this ought to do
the trick,” Mrs. Dunwoodie muttered, putting the final touches on the alarm
system she’d devised featuring sounder grunts and squeals. Mount
Mrs. Dunwoodie took first place in Mount Tiara Community Clinic’s third annual nosocomial gurney race but only because she hooked her Viking helmet by invisible wire to the zip line hidden in the ceiling.
“I asked Mrs. Dunwoodie why she kept looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror as she ran on the treadmill,” Mr. Fenster said, choking on a chuckle. “And the surd woman said she was trying to follow the advice in Proverbs 14:7, the one that says ‘escape quickly from the company of fools; they’re a waste of your time, a waste of words’.”
|I believe I have succeeded in confining her once again|
but she's a slippery one. She might be ba-ack.
Dear brave reader. Let me congratulate you on surviving this onslaught of terrifying verbiage and the escapades of Mrs. Dunwoodie. I hope you can agree with Mr. Fenster when he confessed, “Although she’s an annoyance, I prefer Mrs. Dunwoodie on those days when her most prevalent personality is a flaneur rather than when it is a flaunter; with the former our eyesight is at least spared grievous injury.”