Yesterday, I had just ordered a drink at Cafe Art, and was heading outside to lounge at my favorite table on the corner of the patio, which has the best view of village comings and goings. I had my journal, some things to ponder, and I was looking forward to a few hours of constructive lounging.
Jimmy was there. He ushered me busily to my table, sat me down, and asked why he hadn't seen me lately.
Then, I succeeded in inadvertently offending him in a monumental way, when my drink came out. I had paid for it already when I ordered it at the counter. When it was brought out though, Jimmy grandly asked how much was owed, and was informed I had already taken care of it.
"WHY you PAY? I pay."
I just shrugged, asserting my North American no man takes care of me feminism.
"SO. When you leave? November? End of November? Then you go home and FREEZE in Canada eh?"
I informed that I planned to hit up Paris a and the South of France first.
"FRANCE? Why France? You know someone there? You meet someone there?" He looked at me with a squinty eyed glare.
"I actually am meeting a friend there."
"What? A boyfriend?!" His eyebrows formed into a threatening v.
I contemplated admitting that, yes, I had a rendezvouz in Paris with my British lover who is my sun and moon and stars, but I knew I would not be able to get the words out without laughing. So I told him the truth, that my friend was a she instead of a he.
"So. You like spaghetti and meatballs?"
"Oh. Sometimes." That is actually my least favorite meal ever.
"You trust me?"
Not even a centimeter.
"You come to my house for lunch, and I make you spaghetti and meatballs, eh?"
I told him I wasn't at all hungry, and could not foresee being hungry at any point during the rest the of the day.
"Ok. So, maybe some other time."
I wouldn't bet on it.
"October 26. You doing anything that evening?"
"Oh...well, I'm not sure. I would have to check my calender." My incredibly full, no free minute calender.
"That is my birthday. You come, and a few of my friends, and we all go for dinner. You come, ok?"
"Well, I might be busy - I will have to check."
"What's wrong? You don't like being the only woman in a group of men?"
That's never really bothered me.
But... when they are all thirty years (at least...) older than I, with either no ability or very little ability to speak my language, yes, I am bothered.
"Good. You come."
Now I just have to avoid Jimmy for the next two weeks.