And finally, Psycho Nutter - A rant

Saturday night, I walk out of the ladies' room back out into the bar somewhere in the south of England. Standing behind C and his best friend is this girl who's staring me up and down. I clock her watching me and think it's either one of two things:

a) She just hit on C

or

b) Psycho Nutter is here and that's one of her goons

Pyscho Nutter is this girl C dated for all of two months right before we met. The problem is three years later, I don't think she's still quite got over it.

Like this, except brunette and shorter. Much shorter.

Seriously? Something is wrong with this girl. I'm joking, but I'm not. And his family will back me up on this. When C stopped seeing her, she didn't take it very well. No, she did not. I know, because she seemed to turn up everywhere we went whenver I visited him in the UK those first few months we were dating. Oh wait, she's still doing that even now. Regardless of the variety of venues, there she is, scoping us out. Watching, waiting. She might be the size of an Oompa Loompa, but she scares me anyway. She just wouldn't go away.

Look, I know what it's like when you like a guy and he doesn't like you back. You try a little harder, thinking you can change his mind. You go to all the places he hangs out, try to be a certain way which is not even close to who you really are. We've all been down that route, but we're all also old enough to know better by now. Her, of all people.

To this day, she still manages to turn up almost every time I'm there and we go out. It's wierd. How does she know??? Saturday night, we hit four different places and by the last place - a place we'd never seen her go to before - I felt relatively safe. But like a bad rash, I spy her friend behind the guys and knew she was somewhere in the vicinity.

I wouldn't have minded Psycho Nutter's shenanigans that night, which were comparatively harmless to previous experiences. I wouldn't have minded that night at all when:

a) she decided to blatantly watch every move we made, especially when we went out on the dance floor

b) she walked over to our table, then realized I was sitting next to him, and started cackling wierdly before hurrying away

c) when, I think, she put up one of her guy friends to make a pass at me when I walked right by the bar

d) when she tried to talk C's friend alone, and presumably started crying when he told her to go away

I would have said Fark it, let's go. Except for one thing. She went up to C to say hello while I was in the bathroom, and they exchanged pleasantries. During this time, she was informed that I - his wife - was in fact in the ladies' room at the moment. That's when she felt it was appropriate to ask him if he was happy, to which he answered yes. And then she repeated the question again.

Pardon my Fronch, but what the fuck is that??? Who is she to ask him that? No, that annoyed me.

I'm a Jewish woman. We like to complain as a form of socialization. It's a cultural thing, bubeleh. Throw anything at me, however innocuous, and I'll find something wrong with it. You say "a pencil", I'll tell you the eraser gets all over the paper.

But when a Jewish woman is quiet, she's happy. Which is why C was very concerned in Santorini:

C: Are you okay?

Me: I'm great.

C: Are you sure?

Me: Honestly? Yes.

C: But you're so...quiet.

Yes, I do like to complain about a bunch of things. But C's not high on that list. So I have to complain about taxi drivers, people who don't pick up after their dog's poop, and idiot co-workers, because he doesn't give me enough fodder with which to complain. Not that I want him to start either.

The point is he makes me happy and I believe I make him happy. So after I learned that Psycho Nutter asked him that question, I stuck my heels in, ordered a V & T, and said, "Right, we're not going anywhere."

The guys looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and ordered another round.

I don't like to mess with heads that are already messed up to begin with, but... given that my stay in the UK was short, and C's there for the next 7 weeks for work? I needed to make an Impact with a capital I. Send the message that in our little universe, she didn't quantify. Several people asked me afterwards why I didn't say anything to her, but that was the whole point. Any attention, any reaction would been interpreted as a crack, a weakness on our part, and ultimately, success for her. I know how those crazies work!

She was trying to get a rise out of us, and the more we ignored her, the more desperate she got. The dancing got a little more frenzied, the staring got a little more blatant. Until the point of the tears, she was practically hanging off the railing to watch us. But we refused to bite and ultimately, walked out of the bar and into the night, messily singing "The Last Train to Clarksville".

Try as she might, and she definitely did try, I was not about to get into a Britney/Justin dance-off with her. But had I wanted to do that, believe you me - one high-kick from me would have sent her ass flying all the way out to Glasgow.