Day begins with noise of violent banging in hallway. Am very alarmed and leap out of bed-Jenny raises her head and then drops it down on comforter, Dave doesn't stir. Hallway empty, but further investigation proves that someone has taken sledge hammer to wall in hallway, going through plaster and brick (!) to get to pipes. Pipes--water and gas are exposed. One of the pipes appears to be wrapped in asbestos or equally sinister product and have brief but terrifying thought that curiosity has provided opportunity for fibers to become lodged in lungs. Handyman returns. Ask him what is going on. He rattles off long explanation--a mix of spanish and english, neither of which are comprehensible to me. Rules of society, however, demand that I nod and agree (with what am I do not sure.) When go to work, same problem with ears occurs on entrance of the Contessa. Seems to--but this can't be right--seems to be saying something about Chickens. When asked, it turns out she has been talking about poultry, but only in metaphorical sense. She says darkly, One shouldn't count chickens before they hatch. Ask what she is referring to. She says curtly, Probate. Plead with her to please expand on topic (am interested plus am beginning to worry that have lost capacity for human interaction.) Flood of words follows of which understand all clearly--the gist of torrent is that probate takes a year and that she won't get a penny the whole time and she wishes somebody would have told her otherwise she wouldn't have gone and colored and cut her hair and bought two pairs of shoes at a place that only gives you back store credit. How am I supposed to eat on shoe store credit? she asks. Answer self-evident and the contessa still talking, voice rising higher and louder. When she takes a breath tell her that I am glad that she isn't departing immediately at which she grows quiet. She sighs. Adds, somewhat unconvincingly, I would miss you, of course, if I quit.