She Cannot Take a Hint

She cannot take a hint. She keeps trying to make a time. To come to my house and drink all of my wine. She invites herself in, and tells me the date. I know better now, so I delay her calendar slate. We had made dates before, To paint, and have conversations adult. But she brought her two-year-old granddaughter, So it was sort of her fault, that crude curd-i-o. I met her at the door, explaining even my children Know better than to bring their children to my art studio. She tried to argue her way in, but I barred the door hard. I may seem soft, but I know my petard. I suggested they swing on the swing set outside, Then I locked the doors soundly and stayed safe inside. She rapped on my windows, my doors, and my walls. She put the two-year-old on her head, making her extra tall. Who is that nut my husband finally asked. No, she is not taking no, so I am lying like mad. If she came back anytime soon, I might be the one sad.