I hate ABBA Girl.  Hate hate hate.  Yes, I know I sound utterly middle school right now, but she happens to be a big ol’ poopy head with monkey breath and none of the cool kids even like her, they totally told me.  I realize now that Asterix and Hockey Girl were maybe a bit Swedish reserved, and a bit regular frightened of the crazy sleep walking girl, but were never actually outwardly mean or rude, it was more a distant vibe that I picked up on and made too much of.  But ABBA Girl?  Outwardly mean and rude.

She came over last night to talk to the Viking.  That’s right, to talk to him, in our one room apartment.  But it’s okay, they had plenty of privacy, because she spoke in Swedish the entire time, thereby freezing me out effectively.  I admit my heart sank when I opened the door and there she was.  The Viking had just got home and we’ve been on clashing schedules for a few days so I was looking forward to some alone time with him, plus of course the fact that it was her.  Plus of course it was the first time seeing her since I found out that she’s seen me naked and deranged.

I resolved to plaster a smile on my face and make nice, maybe even make a joke or two about my nocturnal possession, because I know that if I want the Viking in my life (and I do) then she’s part of the package… for now at least.  Like I’ve said, I would never stand in the way of his friendships, but it’s hit me over the past couple of days – it’s natural for friendship groups to evolve as people pair off, right?  Couples hang with couples, and singles hang with singles, plus there’s a merging of each person’s friendship groups and so on.  Not that I have any friendship group to merge with anybody in Sweden, but I will eventually get to know some people, and the Viking and I will hang out with them, and maybe we will hang more with Asterix and Hockey Girl as they are another couple… and just maybe, ABBA Girl will find herself needing a new group of friends to sit around looking as though she smelled something nasty with.

That’s all far in my (hopeful) future, for now she’s here.  She smiled at me like somebody pulled strings at both corners of her mouth, and without even saying hi or sorry for dropping in unannounced, she asked if Anders was home.  Despite my earlier smile plastering, I couldn’t deal with this level of straight up rudeness, so I just stepped aside without a word and gestured towards the kitchen, where Anders was cooking.

He offered us both a glass of wine.  I had no intention of hanging out with her, so declined and went into the main room to watch TV, hoping that she would talk to him about whatever she had come for, and leave before our dinner was ready.

No dice.  Guess that’s the downside of a stir fry.  He yelled me  to eat, and when I came into the kitchen, I saw that she was sitting in my regular seat, leaving me to perch on a stool at the edge of the table, like I was the outsider in my own home.  Well eff that Lady Bitchface (way more apt than ABBA Girl, plus the nickname is making me mad whenever I hear ABBA, which, on Swedish radio, is often).  As soon as the Viking had brought the food over and sat down, I sat on his lap.

And so began the most awkward meal in the history of dinner.  It’s not actually super comfortable to eat from someone’s lap as you’re a bit high for the table, but damned if I was giving up my spot, so I leaned over and got a crick in my neck which I guess I deserved for being childish.

She kept up this long, intense (I’m learning that her regular setting is intense, she asks for the salt like she’s declaring war) monologue in a language she knows perfectly well one of the three people at the table cannot understand.  The Viking kept trying to switch the conversation back to English and include me, but eventually he seemed to get caught up in what she was saying and started arguing with her (I think) in Swedish.

I grabbed my plate and finished the rest sitting cross legged in bed watching TV.