It is the work of my nemesis!

Yesterday we went to see a play version of the book Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes, which I've never read because it's 900 pages long and was written in 1600, and that brings back traumatic memories of my least favorite parts of French lit class. But, Enrico had read it, and wanted to see how you'd turn a 900-page book into a play, so we went. I like plays, I almost always enjoy myself at the theater.

Anyway, it turns out that one of the things the famous Don Quixote does, in his madness, is create an imaginary nemesis, Freston. (Which simply must be pronounced with a vigorous French accent, e.g. FresTOn.) The giants turn out to be windmills? It must be the work of Freston, who has cast an enchantment to prevent my glorious victory over the giants!

That's what I need, an imaginary nemesis. From now on, when Enrico comes home at the end of the day and I'm still in my pajamas and the dogs haven't been walked and the sink is full of dirty dishes - It must the work of Freston!