Wednesday, July 13, 2011


310. Being left alone with the Italian army. Finding out that Bowser is surprisingly uncontroversial when Princess Peach is not around. Learning that the Italians have not only wild hand gestures, but also a colourful collection of sayings: cutting the head of the bull, sex of the angels, fried air... Spending lunch talking about the sex of the angels.

311. "Sorry I'm being useless," he says, as I slowly walks backward, heading for the door. "If I have any idea, I'll let you know," he offers, "email you... send a text message..."  "Or write a letter," I extend his joking list without thinking, then quietly cringe at the realization of what I just said, and then smile to myself. For having almost completely forgotten. For being able to subconsciously make fun of it.

312. Early evening. Gaston and I are sitting on the couch, talking about fried air, Smurfette is checking on the cheese and apple bread rolls in the oven, tonight's entrée, to be served before a flavorful quinoa and shrimp salad, and then a sweet, homemade meringue-chocolate mousse.

In Grey's Anatomy, when Lexie Grey first moves to Seattle Grace Hospital, her half-sister Meredith Grey does not find her appearance comforting. In an attempt to improve things, Lexie tells Meredith at the end of a working day. "I’m not stalking [you]. I just- I hate apples. Hate them. They shouldn’t be allowed to be a fruit. That’s one. And, two- I can draw really, really well on an etch-a-sketch, like really well, like I could be a professional if you know, that profession existed. I play the trombone, badly. Uh, I like math. And I noticed that you do this thing with your hands when you’re trying to make a point. Like- like this- with your hands. And, I know that’s about you, but I- I do it too. So, it’s also about me. So, that’s five. Five things that I’m hoping will make it a little bit harder for you to hate me." If you know more about someone as a person (and assuming that the information you gain isn't about his criminal records or favourite hobby of referring to himself in a third person), you are more likely to like the person -- or so Lexie's theory goes. 

Since moving in, Smurfette never gave me a reason not to like her, but she didn't have to: she is not Tintin, my personal stylist, bathroom-cleaner, pancake-maker, whisky-provider, general-life-advice-dispenser, and, equally importantly, someone I can team up with against Gaston. How else can we ever make the forever seemingly unflappable Gaston turn bright red arguing over the evil of Ryanair, the existence of climate change, gender equality, or allow himself to be photographed in a skirt? To be clear, I never actually disliked Smurfette, I just preferred that I didn't have to get to know her (i.e. that Tintin hadn't moved out to begin with), and that I would have a choice to whether to like or not to like her, instead of being sort of forced to like her because not liking one's flatmate would really suck.

"By the way, do you think September 11 actually happened?" I ask Smurfette, after heaping more of the refreshing salad onto my plate. "I never said that I thought September 11 didn't happen," Gaston immediately points out. "OK, let me rephrase it, do you think September 11 happened because of the US government or of terrorism?" I change my question for Smurfette. "I never said that September 11 happened because of the US government either," Gaston once again preemptively defends himself. "He's trying not to appear like a psycho to you," I tell Smurfette, then quickly add, "not that I am trying to find out whether you are a psycho. Or that you would be a psycho if you answer either way..." Smurfette laughs, seemingly not bothered by my diplomacy (or lack of), and tells us about her view. 

It seems that Lexie's theory actually works. Especially when one of the things you find out about the person is that she can make a delicious three-course dinner.

No comments:

Post a Comment