Amused, I point to my stomach and flatly deny any participation in exercise. She doesn't chuckle in appreciation of my wit but (still rather politely) continues to describe the noises as repetitive and so loud to the extent that her light bulb filaments shake.
I hold back an urge to chastise her obvious lack of concern for our planet as she has just admitted that she refuses to part with wasteful, antiquated light sources.
I invite her in to see my bedroom and she is quite apparently hesitant to follow me in there. Perhaps she thinks I'll rape her? Perhaps she fantasizes about this? Perhaps she should take a good look around at my apartment furnishings and realize that this place could be the creation of none other than a true homosexual? Perhaps that would allay her fears? Or, since she seems a tad old-skool, it might heighten them?
She eventually yet hesitantly makes her way to my bedroom and I show her my IKEA desk chair and demonstrate that it does have a bit of a catch sound when one sits in it if it is in a semi-lounging position. To myself I think, this can't really be what she's bitching about since it's only a slight sound and shouldn't transmit down to her. Indeed, when I demonstrate the sound by sitting in the chair, she doesn't seem satisfied that it is the sound she's hearing.
I escort her out politely as I promise to be more gentle in my seating habits. I can tell she still is looking around for the unseen Nautilus machine and treadmill she insists I use. I wish. I could use the weight loss for sure.
She bids good bye with semi-appreciation for my gracious demeanor. Perhaps as time goes on she'll come to realize that in fact she is actually bat-shit crazy and needs to be institutionalized.
Or perhaps I should just turn down my sub-woofer while I loudly play computer games featuring clanging and booming noises?
Fuck that!
It's all in your head Shirley! It's all in your head.