Drama Queen

i didn't find my landlady dead in my apartment which, i guess, is a good sign. that means she did not go a' snoopin' in my bathroom. if she had, she would have surely died from fright. currently, mrs. castle alternates between the tub and the toilet because when i went to oklahoma last weekend, i stashed the larger-then-life human sculpture in my bathroom, rather then keeping it in the back seat of my car. (i know in my neighborhood i run the risk of the car getting stolen without the security of an effing-scary mannequin sitting in the car all night, but i was taking my bike.)

this creature has the ability to scare people who know her whereabouts. i don't know how many times i've checked my rearview mirrors only to have my heart skip a beat while wondering who is sitting behind me wearing yellow, vinyl pants.

a friend's art school project dug out of a dumpster, mrs. castle and i have quite a history that we like to share with others. this means that if you leave your garage door unlocked for a few minutes she's likely to show up, sitting quietly on the old stove. give me your apartment key to water the plants and, come monday morning, she'll be in your shower. back and front porches, passenger seats, backyards have all known the likes of mrs. castle. usually the placement happens at night, or in the evening and i lie awake giggling to myself imagining the fear and terror she will inflict upon her and my victims.

never has this happened. she scares me when i know about her but when i place her, in order scare others, she never does. "ugh. not mrs. castle again." is the most common reaction. no screams. no dropping to the knees and passing out. no vomiting. and no drama.