"The Omen."

A wonderful lady of my acquaintence has been telling increasingly more fanciful tales to us about all sorts of things. Hidden amidst the fantasies are grains of truths. Sifting through the sands is too time-consuming so I just listen.
Every now and then she gets off a zinger.
This week her zinger turned out to be a portent.
An ominious omen.

It was the end of my visit, and the lady was describing some gentleman who had gained her disfavour.

"I told him, 'Bah, you're full of prunes.' "

Almost choking on my own spittle, I must have laughed for ten minutes.
What a great insult. Full of prunes.

So my day done I carry on to my private life.
I have a guest from afar staying with me for 18 days.
This guest has a language and cultural barrier but a willingness to learn and partake of family events. We went to my father's home and enjoyed a fine dinner with a few other of my family members.

Suddenly, (and without warning) my guest is in the hallway, frantically making signs my way. I did not quite understand until I realised it was the bathroom she was pointing at.

Apparantly the last person to use the facilities neglected to notice that the toilet paper was almost out. My guest decided that the kleenex box on the toilet tank was obviously meant to be used in lieu of.

It was a dreadful disaster and noone at all volunteered to help.
Strangely they all seemed to either fall asleep or be busy until my plunging mopping and disinfecting was done. ---yuk

So I was the one full of prunes.
---------------------------------------- !

(even worse, I came home, showered and cleansed myself, washed my clothes and logged on to relax in T2t and was killed in the Lothlorien Warcamp by Amearn. I did not even notice he had backstabbed me. The prunes I suppose, got in the way.)