Me, the growling chi wawa and the 'ol

As if the world of taxes needs added excitement. I’m sitting here fearing for my life. As growling dog noises are being made from across the baffle. Strange smells of hydrocarbon chains decorated with hydroxyls are seeping through my fabulous pinkish, grey, recycled, reused and reduced wall. This man is harmless really, he’s a bit off his rocker and has a wee bit of a problem staying on the wagon but nothing to worry about. The growling is new to me though... He’s talking to his wife on the phone I presume… she’s 16 years younger than him. He made mention of it once right before he handed a coworker a letter confessing his undying love that forced him into a leave of abscence. Needless to say I thought he’d gotten his stuff sorted now that he’s back in the office but this heated conversation with the wifey has me thinking twice. It sounds to me like there’s trouble in tinsel land. I did all I could do to stay out of it… turned up my music and even tried to hum along to drown out the noise but he’s too loud. I eventually gave in and listen to what’s going on. “You’re a secretive sneaky person! grrrrrrr You will leave this country with disgrace. Some more grunting… the kind that exudes aggravation… he sounds like a chi Wawa that is showing its teeth to a Dalmatian that could swallow it in one effortless inhale. I’m so tempted to giggle but hold back and remind myself that I’m a peeping tom without the peeping or the tom. “No lucy! I’m not drinking.” I raise my eyebrow… and think maybe it’s the breath mint I got a wiff of. Listerine is after all very powerful. I feel like I’m violating this poor man by just being here. I need to get up let him have his space. Take a walk perhaps. Let’s do that. Go for a walk.