Crazier than You

The other day I was roaming the streets, moaning, with tears streaming down my cheeks, much in the vein of a lunatic.  I barely noticed the streets and laneways I wandered, the beautiful terrace houses which form this neighbourhood. I was literally wringing my hands, also very much in the way of a crazy lady, and then I happened to notice a woman walking in front of me.  She was in a dirty blue robe, dressing gown that is, and slippers, and not much else.  It was freezing.  I could see the hairs on her legs bristling in the frigid air as she shuffled along.  She carried a canvas bag, the kind that you get from the supermarket in place of a plastic bag. I’m a tiny bit ashamed to say that I followed her.  She made a beeline for the bottleshop.  I didn’t go that far, but I like to imagine that she bought herself some cooking sherry, or maybe some Father O’Leary’s Velvet Cream. I thought she might go shuffling off to the nearest bench, or perhaps that I might find myself on a midweek adventure, tailing dressing gown lady back to her abode (not creepy, more in the way of a super sleuth). Instead, she legged it to the centre of the road, and stood waiting casually at the tram stop, her gown flapping in the breeze.  She made me feel a little better. At least I take my dressing gown off before I go up the street.