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Dear Annie

Dear Annie: I’m wondering whether you have a copy of a piece that I believe was in an Ann Landers column. It featured a woman who felt that someone she did not know was living in her house, and it was about getting older. I thought it was very funny but have never seen it again. — George H.

Dear George: I’m glad you brought this piece to mind. It’s “The Stranger in My House,” by Rose Madeline Mula — later released with the title “The Stranger in My Mirror.” I’ve had to abridge it slightly below; read it in full at http://seniorwomen.com, and find out more about the author at http://rosemadelinemula.com.

“The Stranger in My House,” by Rose Madeline Mula, copyright 1997

A very weird thing has happened. A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in. I certainly didn’t invite her. All I know is that one day she wasn’t there, and the next day she was.

She’s very clever. She manages to keep out of sight for the most part; but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her there; and when I look into a mirror directly to check on my appearance, suddenly she’s hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body. … I’ve tried screaming at her to leave — but she just screams back. …

If she’s going to hang around, the least she could do is offer to pay rent. But no. Every once in a while I do find a couple of dollar bills on the kitchen counter, or some loose change on my bureau or on the floor, but that certainly isn’t enough. In fact, though I don’t like to jump to conclusions, I think she steals money from me quite regularly. I go to the ATM and withdraw a hundred dollars, and a few days later, it’s gone. I certainly don’t go through it that fast, so I can only conclude that the old lady pilfers it. …

… For an old lady, she’s really quite childish. She also gets into my closets when I’m not home and alters all my clothes. They’re getting tighter every day.

Another thing: I wish she’d stop messing with my files and the papers on my desk. I can’t find a thing. …

She finds innumerable, imaginative ways to irritate me. She gets to my newspapers, magazine and mail before me and blurs all the print; and she’s done something sinister with the volume controls on my TV, radio and phone. Now all I hear are mumbles and whispers. She’s also made my stairs steeper, my vacuum cleaner heavier, all my knobs and faucets hard to turn, and my bed higher and a real challenge to climb into and out of.

Furthermore, she gets to my groceries as soon as I shelved them and applies glue to the tops of every jar and bottle so they’re just about impossible to open. Is this any way to repay my hospitality?

… She’s taken all the fun out of clothes shopping. … When I try something on, she dons an identical outfit — which looks ridiculous on her — and then stands directly in front of me so I can’t see how great it looks on me.

I thought she couldn’t get any meaner than that; but yesterday she proved me wrong. She had the nerve to come with me when I went to have some passport pictures taken, and she actually stepped in front of the camera just as the shutter clicked. … How can I go abroad now? No customs official is ever going to believe that the crone scowling from my passport is me.

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