Tonight after the whirling dervishes, Marc and I were going to stop for a cup of coffee on the way home. We spotted a likely looking place, and a man came up to us, very friendly as everyone here is when they want to sell you something, and asked if we were interested. We said yes, and he led us -- to the restaurant across the alley. Ah, well.
We did have a lovely dinner (okay, I had a lovely dinner, and Marc had a beer). As we were leaving, the man told us we were a lovely couple. We smiled politely and he said, "Couple? You are a couple, yes?"
We both denied it vehemently. We're good friends, but the thought of being perceived as a couple has just pissed us off ever since our college days. The man's eyes lit up -- then went to my breasts.
"Ah!" he said. "I thought you were a couple! If I had known -- I left you alone because couples are to be left together -- it would not be honorable -- are you married?" He took my hand in both of his. Oh, they were warm, and strong, and manly, and . . .
No, I replied, and I confess to you, I did smile at him somewhat invitingly.
"Not married!" he exclaimed. "But why not?"
I just haven't found to right one, I suppose, I sighed.
"Ah! And where are you going now?"
We told him we were just going back to the hotel, as I have an early flight tomorrow.
"What! But I have coffees and tea, and I would talk to you more now, but I must work. And you! Do you have a mother and father? Brother and sisters?"
Yes, I have both parents, and five sisters and a brother.
"Ah! And I have 9 brothers, and one of them has 11 children. Children, I love children, but 11 is too many. I think maybe three. And family! I am ready for family! My family, they say to me, when will you have a family? It is time for you to have a family! And I say, I am ready! Are you ready?"
I blushed, and admitted that perhaps it is time for me to have a family as well.
"Yes! And what do you think of me?"
You're very kind, I answered, with more shy but beguiling smiles.
"Very good! We must speak more. But I must work. Come back with me, and I will give you my email address and we will speak in that way."
Well . . . I hesitated.
"Please, we must speak more. It is time for the family."
Here! I said. I have a pen in my bag. And here's a card to write it on.
"Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much! You" -- to Marc -- "turn, please." And we used Marc's back as a table to write on.
The man wrote his email address on the card and we bid our fond farewells. He didn't kiss me, but his eyes said volumes -- when they weren't focused on my breasts. With a final squeeze of my hand, we parted.
