Chapter Three

THE ANDERCHRONICLES

By Me, Ellee

[WARNING: The following story has been rated FNF*]
*Fiction NOT Fact

“Henna-Happy Harriet” **

[**Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is most likely a huge mistake, and they have my condolences]

T
he first time I had the dubious pleasure of meeting Henna-Happy Harriet, I had only been out of the box for a day. And I have to say, she is a real “work of art!” I really wasn’t prepared for the likes of her! She just waltzed into Anderson’s apartment—with her own key, acting like she owned the place, which at the time I didn’t know, she practically does.

She is the most imposing figure of a woman I have ever seen anywhere! She stands about 6' 2" weighing in at two-hundred pounds, give or take—mostly give. She must have at least 105 years to her debit. Her face is riddled with deep, and I do mean really deep canyons, rivaling those of the Grand Canyon. Of the seven moles scattered around her face, three are red, four are brown. And out of each mole is growing a little wiry hair, gray as gray. Her teeth, or what’s left of them are just pegs. And when she smiles, . . . well, I haven’t actually seen her smile yet, but when she opens her mouth you can see that there is one peg here, and one there, and actually one growing out the side of her jawbone.

Her eyes are just as strange as the rest of her face.The right eye is blue and the left one is brown. And most of the time, they don’t even track together. One can be off in left field, while the other is somewhere else. Often when I am talking to her, I can’t decide if she is focusing on the ceiling, or the floor—or both, because one eye will be cast upwards, and the other down. If I am somewhere in between, I get the feeling she doesn’t see me at all.

On top of her head is a huge mound of henna-dyed hair, which resembles one of those massive ant hills out in the Gobi Desert. And she is always wearing dangling earrings of varying lengths, styles and colors, which usually clash with the tint of her hair.

When she first discovered me in the apartment, she took one look at me, screwed up her face like she had just come across sewer scum and said,

“Who the h*** are YOU?”

“I beg your pardon,” I responded.

“What are you DOING here?” she barked.

“I am Anderson’s Christmas present. I arrived yesterday—in that box over there,” I said, pointing to my delivery box, which was still there.

She took three steps back, eyed me from top to bottom, and then bottom to top, whereupon she said in the snippiest tone she could muster, with her king-size hands planted on her broader-than-a-garbage-truck hips,

“Well . . . I’m absolutely positive the VERY day after Christmas Anderson will want to be the first in line to exchange THIS Christmas present! Or better yet, get a full refund!”

I was so offended I just blurted out,

“Well . . . who are you to make such judgements?”

That was when she announced with great authority and gusto,

“I AM HARRIET, ANDERSON 'S PERSONAL HOUSEKEEPER!”

I should have stopped there, but didn’t.

“Well, laa tee daa! Henna-Happy Harriet!” I exclaimed, aspirating each of the H’s in her new name, “I am truly SORRY for that poor man!”

At that she turned her massive body around, which wasn't all that easy, and huffed out of the room. She went straight to Anderson and told him that I was offensive and rude to her.

So . . . after making a few calculations, tallying up both the dog incident and now this, I knew, as of yet, even taking into account the chicken legs, I hadn’t actually scored any points at all with this man!

The next morning, when I was posting to Anderfans, Anderson caught me using his laptop. At first I thought he was going to be oh-so-mad, based on my negative point balance of the day before, but when he saw that I was posting to Anderfans, he exclaimed,

“You’re posting on Anderfans?”

When I answered yes, he told me that he lurks there all the time and loves all the ladies. He named each one by name, but he didn’t mention Me, at all. When I questioned him about this omission he ask,

“Who is Me?”

“It’s Me!” I replied.

“You?

"No, me, not you. You're you. I'm me."

"Is me, you?

"No, I'm me and you're you," I corrected, pointing first to me and then to him.

"Oh, I get it! You're me!"

"Noooooo . . . you're YOU—I'm ME!

I could see he really was making an effort to process all this, but couldn't quite bring it into focus. Then he asked,

"Well . . . do you have a name?"

"Yes,” I said, “ I do have a name.”

Just then Molly came dashing across the room, skidding right into her master, dropping a dirty, wet, half-chewed ball at his feet. She looked up, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, panting, in anticipation of playtime with her favorite person.

Then Anderson picked up the ball and the two of them went running off through the apartment, Anderson throwing the ball, Molly snatching it up in her mouth.

“Ellee,” I called after him, “my name’s Ellee.”

But I wasn’t sure he heard me. Then I got to thinking, he hadn’t ask my name before then. I’ve been here two days and he is just now getting around to wondering about my name? What does this mean? Actually, he really didn’t wonder about my name at all, until I brought it up. Should I make anything out of that, or just ignore it?

And then there's one other thing which puzzles me. The day before, when I asked where I could sleep, he told me in the kitchen on the wooden bench. When I asked why I have to sleep on a WOODEN bench in the kitchen, he told me he didn’t have a guest bedroom. But I know better, because when I was snooping around his apartment the day I arrived, I found four rooms, which I assumed were bedrooms! I didn't go in them, but they had to be bedrooms. I don't understand exactly what that means. Maybe he was hoping that if I didn't have a place to sleep, I would leave. And yet . . . he didn't say he wanted me to leave. Sooo . . . how do I read that?

When his playtime ended with Molly, he finally came back into the room and asked,

“Did you say Ellee? Is that your name? Is that what you want me to call you? Or do you prefer, Me?”

Oh, yes, I DO prefer you, I was thinking to myself, maybe you could call me Sweetie or Honey, or even Snookums. But to his face I said,

“Yes, Ellee will be fine. You can call me Ellee”

Bye for now
Love,
Ellee