Our Landlady is crazy. We own our house but rent the property, shitty yes, but at least we can do what we want with the house. Helen isn't crazy in the mentally ill "Shutter Island" kind of crazy way, but she recently had neck surgery and is on a high amount of pain killers which makes her, interesting, to converse with.
Yesterday I was taking Mr. Pants out for our daily walk and she approached us.
Helen: "Look at that big boy! He's almost a year now right?"
Me: "Yes, well in December, he's nine months on Friday"
Helen: "I knew it, almost a year. Is he walking yet?"
Me: "no,but he's pulling himself up to standing and he's getting stronger"
Helen: "How many teeth does he have?"
Me: "Oh, none yet, but he's teething like crazy"
Helen stops talking and stares at me like I'm this terrible person for not caring that my baby doesn't have teeth yet. She turns around and walks away. True story.
