Nosy black crow
Every morning a hideously loud crow wakes me from my dreams of flying. What is this crow’s problem? Why is he not flying himself? Why does he (I refuse to believe such an ugly, noisy, nosy creature could be female) choose to sit on the grill outside my window, croaking for hours before the wake up clock calls me, when the whole sky could be his oyster? I bet it’s because he’s Indian. We have no sense of privacy and space. I’m not being unpatriotic, I am as guilty as my neighbour (who by the way, sits with his door open watching the comings and goings of my flat) for butting my pakora nose into anything and everything.
There are boundaries. Or at least there should be. Last week my lover took me to San Gimignano – not the Italian town, but the lovely Italian restaurant in the capital. We had big reason to celebrate – I’m not going to tell you why, just to teach you to mind your own business. Any way a few glasses of Dom later, I went and sat on the same chair as my man. I hadn’t so much as whispered my delicious delight in his ear, that a sheepish waiter rather reluctantly told us, “ sorry but this a family restaurant”. The place was empty except for 3 middle aged ladies dinning many tables away. So grotesquely offended were they by our not so demonstrative display of affection (not even kiss, God forbid if we had), they had to put an immediate end to our shocking behaviour.
Why couldn’t the prudes enjoy their food, wine or even each other’s company? As we looked across, they were animated and happy for the first time. Doubtless we had rescued them from certain death by boredom. I sat on my urge to shoo them away like my morning crow and instead sent them some bubbly so we could all be one big happy family!
