This time, I’m mad. I’ve had enough. This would be the third guy in just the last couple of hours. And they were all a certain type, too: skin like leather, topis so colourful they could be flags, a lilt in their tones that evoked in the listener’s mind images of story-tellers and wanderlust. In short: completely unremarkable Pahadi men of average height and less than taxable incomes.
Well if Girlfriend thinks I’ll just stand around pillaresque while she chats up every working class hero in Kasol, she’s wrong. I didn’t mind so much earlier the last few times because the resentment was only building, and I was distracted by all the blinking lights in this stupid café. But this time, I’m mad. This time, she’s gone too far, luring him over with the packet of Bourbons she knows perfectly well I was holding as contingency for midnight munchies.
I step up and into the middle of their little conversation, and immediately feel guilty about interrupting the ebb and flow of the babbling brook that is his voice. Jesus, it’s a bit like getting a really rough handjob, I think to myself, as his tongue caresses every syllable of his tale while his eyes reprimand me for interrupting all the vocal love-making.
“Baby,” I side-mouth to Girlfriend, “stop asking every native guy you see if it’s going to rain tomorrow!”
“Why?” she asks, totes flying in the face of our all-sidemouths-should-be-responded-to-in-kind rule.
“Because it’s racist!” I semi-side-mouth and smile broadly at Pahadi Dude, so he doesn’t realize we’re talking about him.
“Why are you grinning like that?” asks Girlfriend, “you’re freaking him out!”
“At least he doesn’t know we’re talking about him,” I say, “look, just because he’s from here doesn’t mean he can predict the weather!”
“Of course he can’t,” says Girlfriend, “I’m just asking if it’ll rain...oh, I see what you mean. Shit, give him some money!”
“Really? You don’t think I should wait till you’ve given him a tour of the gas chamber?”
“Fine,” hisses Girlfriend, “You tell me what we should do then.”
“WE?,” I whisper a scream, “we don’t need to do anything. Just tell him you’ll add him on Facebook or something and let’s get the fuck out of here.”