You may recall the stories of George, the dog park guy, who became something of a stalker, inviting me to his cabin and reminding me, every morning, of what I was doing in my house the night before when he ‘happened to walk on by and look in our window’.

George is the reason I developed the Christmas light cloaking device which protects our ground-floor apartment from at least some prying. George is the reason that I run home from the dog-park, so that if I see him I can tell him that I’m ‘running late’ (tee hee). George is the reason I have started lying about my daily dog walking hours - I’m trying to throw him off the scent.

Well I ran into George today and let me tell you, Meeka is about as sick of Max (George’s dog) as I am of George. I was running back from the dog park when this little ball of fluff launches itself out from under a bench and into Meeka’s side. I swear to God Meeka actually groaned in time with me.

I said hello to George as I ran by - not showing any signs of slowing - but I eventually had to stop and wait cause his damn porrly behaved dog kept following me and my little angel.

“Sorry George, I’m on my way home’

“Oh, ok” George says, “I’ll walk home with you”

“Oh no George, you don’t need to do that”

“No, I want to Jaime, I’m just a bit sad because I’ve been carrying an apple in my pcoket for a week hoping that I could give it to you but I had to throw it away yesterday because it was rotting”

WHAT THE HELL?!?

No, seriously, am I the only one who feels completely creeped out by an old man carrying a rotten apple around in hopes that he can make me eat it? What is this, Snow White or something?

Anyway, if anyone of you sees an old man with a little black dog and he happens to ask about me, tell him that I’ve moved to Iceland. For good.