A woman approached a professional golf player after a tournament in which he had just competed and won. She told him that her little girl had cancer and the procedure would cost $25,000 but that she couldn’t afford it and so the little girl would die. The golf pro took out his checkbook and made out a check for $25,000.
After the woman had left the scene, a man who worked at the golf course came up to the gold pro and asked what had just transpired between him and the woman. After the golf pro told the story, the man responded, “That woman is a scam artist. Her story was a lie just to get your money.”
The golf pro looked thrilled. “So you’re telling me her little girl doesn’t have cancer? What a relief!”
On Thursday, Ninja pulled a doozy on me; I won’t get into the details of what she did but let’s just say it may result in my being homeless in a week. This was the second douching I had been given over living arrangements this month, when my lease ends at the end of the month, and let’s just say at this point I was way oversaturated with vinegar. So I had a few cross words with her.
It is Sunday evening and despite numerous calls to her, text messages which cost me 20 cents a text because I don’t have a plan [See “The Text Messaging Douchebag” http://rebelyogi.com/the-text-messaging-douchebag.html], and even doing detective work (uh, calling 411) to find her mother in Jersey’s number and leaving two messages there, I haven’t heard from Ninja or her whereabouts.
At this point I am worried about her and just hoping that she is alright. If she calls me and I find out that she was just being inconsiderate and insensitive, I will be like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son—just glad my beloved has arrived home safely. If she tells me, “My phone was broken,” or “I was nervous about calling you” or even, “I wanted to make you squirm,” the only words that will come out of my mouth, at least for the first minute, will be, “What a relief!”