social services I

The woman from Social Services called again. She's coming over tomorrow. I'm tired of this story, so I'll make it brief.

I came home from work one day to find a card from the county social work agency, Child Protection division, tucked in the crack of my front door. I was baffled but terrifically curious, so I called. The social worker, Brenda, said there was "something she needed to talk to me about" but refused to do it over the phone. I said fine, come on over.

My house smelled a bit like urine (the cat has kidney stones and likes to pee in odd places) but by our ten a.m. appointment I was mostly dressed and fairly sober, so I figured I'd make a good impression. Brenda showed up with a silent assistant in tow. I invited them in.

Someone had called in a report on me -- that was the gist of it. The informant (I asked who it was and got, "I'm sorry, I can't give you that information") had accused me of neglecting my kids, specifically my youngest daughter. The social worker was evasive about the details. I think I'd been accused of letting her run loose in the street or something. Brenda also asked me if it were true that I go running sometimes at night.

Well yes. I do. So what?
What neighborhood idiot saw me out running at night and reported this to Child Protection?

Suspicion falls on two neighbors. First, across the street and three houses down is a little old couple I don't know. I think they're the ones who keep calling our subdivision's Homeowners Association to complain about my poor mowing habits and penchant for leaving my trash cans by the curb all week. Also, when my six-year-old went out selling chocolates for her school, they were the only ones in the neighborhood who didn't humor her by buying a damn chocolate bar. They said, "No, we don't need those. And you shouldn't be out by yourself, should you?" They're Nazis. I can tell.

More interestingly -- and I really hope it's her -- it could be the high-strung woman six streets over who last year accused me of sleeping with her husband. This was after she kicked him out of the house for losing his license to practice medicine because he'd forked a patient on the exam table who later accused him of rape. It's all very convoluted. I'll be really entertained if she's still plotting petty revenge against me. Whether I did or didn't sleep with him, I won't say, but since she kicked him out and she knew he was a big fat slut long before I allegedly sank my claws into him, I don't know what she can blame me for in any case -- except poor taste in lovers, I suppose. And that would be a case of the pot calling the kettle mean names.

Anway, I answered Brenda's questions and showed her to the door and I assumed it was all settled. Before she left, she remarked over the long rope that hangs from the upstairs hallway down into the foyer. It's made of cloth belts and gis all tied together and the kids play with it a lot -- hoisting stuffed animals into the air, lassoing me when I'm making important phone calls, tying up the neighbor boy and so forth. The lady pointed out that it was a choking hazard and asked me to take it down. I said I would. She left. The end.

Except that she left me a message a couple weeks later saying she "still had some concerns." And once again, it can't be settled over the phone; she has to come to my damn home tomorrow and interrogate me in person. The rope is still hanging there. I thought of taking it down before she comes over, but I'm not going to. I think I'll draw a freakin pentagram on the floor with sheep's blood and drink tequila in front of her and leave my full-color anatomy atlas open to the page titled Genitalia: Male And Female.

I was interested at first, but by this point I'm just irked and bored. Sometimes I do stupid things for amusement when I'm bored. Usually I regret it for a long time afterward. I suspect tomorrow will be no exception.