at 4.37 a.m. yesterday, no doubt thoroughly exhausted by its zucchinni-induced hysterics, my fire detector (MFD) began a slow and painful death. a slow and painful death heralded by eratic beepings at a volume most often employed by emergency vehicles.
as we've established in prior musings about MFD, there are few places in a small apartment that are not close to the kitchen. there is also apparently no place for MFD but the absolute highest peak of the ceiling. this time, even the pink fan was of no help. thus, because julio was unable to come to the rescue until 6 p.m., MFD's demise prompted a twelve hour journey of self-discovery, set to elvis albums and punctuated by obnoxious beepings akin to bird-squawks.
from this we have learned that i, a jumpy person who hates birds and the phone, can, in fact, hold a series of sustained telephone conversations while subjected to obscenely loud bird noises. noises that so unhinged the vieve that she- who will attack a cereal flake with stalin-esque vigor- was rendered impervious to the massive fly (promptly dubbed colette) that came to live with us. even colette seemed rather shocked to have wandered into such inhospitably loud environs. we were a household of terrorized, raven-haired women.
for some brief moments throughout the day, i did wonder if there might be invisible flames or fatal gases. whether MFD knew something we didn't. whether my towel-headed, revolutionary outfitted self would be found dead on the floor clutching a dead vieve amidst a pile of newspaper clippings about black people. but no. there would come another oh so brief yet oh so ridiculously, unbelieveably, unexpectedly, horribly loud BLEWEIIEIEEIIP and the veive would do that thing where she puts her head on backwards and i would down another diet coke- thanking God we were still alive- put the phone back to my ear and try not to sound like a dimwit.