Mental Corruption

The Demon Wench (i.e. my Ex) came by yesterday. Now, I've heard that the mark of a true gentlemen is to recognise that romantic liaisons are fleeting, but friendships can last a lifetime. That one's reputation as a true man of maturity, grace and valour will be found by surveying those who have inspired the notches in one's bedposts. That one should not harbour ill feelings for one's past targets of seduction, as they can become one's fiercest allies in the search for future naked rubbing partners.

...I assume that "gentleman" is therefore defined as "pussy" by whomever came up with such lame concepts. No true Man gets his penis rejected and not moan to everyone within earshot about the See You Auntie who did it to him.

Anyhoo, she brought the stepladder, the pepper-spray AND her new partner in sapphic crime (no, girl-girl encounters are not illegal in Québec, but they darned well SHOULD be. There's enough of a single-female shortage as it is without them getting together and further cutting off the supply).

Not expecting her arrival, I just had Gargy on his one chain that allows him free reign within the apartment (this allows him to work on his potty training and use the toilet for his basest biological needs. He's still a few months away from perfecting his aim). He was working in the kitchen so I didn't think anything of it when the doorbell rang (in any case, I want him available if any heathens from those sects which corrupt the name of my God come knocking). The She-Beast walked up the stairs, dropped the ladder in my vestibule and asked me in a rather imperative tone to hand over HER stuff. She wouldn't listen to reason or my pleas to get out.

...this was NOT going to end well.

Given that I had traveled to Romania to get over her and our six-week relationship (the longest since my marriage. My track record in meeting overly demanding and unreasonable women is rather depressing), she had never met my new special friend and was unaware of his existence. As loyal readers already have guessed, Gargy's exceptional olfactory sense was almost instantaneously stimulated and he bounded into my entranceway. Though the result wasn't what I expected.

Upon seeing the being I used to take pleasure spending time in, the little monster screeched to a halt and his usual green hue started becoming... red, at least in his ears and cheeks. In an utterly stunning development, he knelt in front of her, lightly kissed her elegantly shod feet and, well, kept quiet and stared at the floor.

Even more stupefying, the Ex reached down and started scratching him behind the ears and saying how he was a good boy. She ordered him to bring the ladder to my back room and to come back. This was executed with an almost solemn calm by my usually restive midget, yet he was back in genuflection in an instant. My former pincushion smiled at me with a caustic glance and ordered him to fetch her Blackadder DVD box set and any ladies underwear he could find laying about (she was assuming that I had not bed any of her kin since our split, which I found to be highly presumptuous of her. Unfortunately, her assumption was also heinously accurate). Gargy came back with armfuls of her still-soiled, haddock-scented briefs (Note to self: the under-the-mattress hiding spot won't work against his massive sniffing implement) and one set of the finest sadistic British comedy money can import. I protested that those were MY DVDs, but she simply gathered that which she believed was hers, including her utterly magnificent girlfriend who is even more delicious with the bedhead properly groomed out, and sachayed down the stairs.

Gargy was still kneeling when the door closed. After a few moments, he became aroused and filled up the NASA bucket. He then calmly went about his rope-making duties for the rest of day.

I have NO idea what is going on around here.