Sunday Market Morning
The cute Chinese chap (I love alliteration!) at the vegetable stall I frequent wandered over to the baby bok choys, where I was selecting my weekly two bunches, and started fussing with them.
"Good morning!" he said heartily.
I looked up in surprise at him, wondering to whom he was talking. His eyes were focused on the other side of the make-shift table displaying the baby bok choys, and not at me, but since there wasn't anybody within a two meter-radius, I had no choice but to assume he was talking to me; good manners kicked reflexively in and I dutifully replied, "Morning."
Then came the inevitable question: "How are you this morning?"
Let's see - it's 7°C with Southwesterlies going at 59km/h, I have on two layers of clothing, neither of which is made from materials prefixed with thermal; walking the one block to the market, I've lost all feeling in my cheeks and nose and fingers; I'm barely awake, having only slept around two, because after Carrie's farewell-party and we'd all gone home (I, having judiciously begged off the farewell-drink-till-you-are-completely-plastered session and post-party clubbing), Jaya rang me up at 00:22 to say Aileen was home from Sydney, come on up to her room, she was distributing pressies, and I stayed in Aileen's room chatting till it was nearly two; I feel bloated, fat and ugly; I'm grouchy because of my period; and I'm hungry.
This, obviously, is too much information to be sharing in the cold, freezing my tits and ass off, not to mention he is a complete - if familiar - stranger; thus reviewing my options, I chose the most economical answer: "Cold."
At this point, it usually would be the end of this sort of small talk (at least it would've been if I'd been in the supermarket), so I turned away with my two bunches of baby bak choy and headed off to pay for them ... just as he asked, "Why?"
A beat. (Huh? What kinda dumbass question is this? Cold is cold is cold! Everybody else around us is swaddled to their teeth and here I am with nary a muffler - and you're asking me why?!)
Then, as if he either realized what a ridiculous question it was, or that I'd already walked off, blurted out, "Okay!"
Oooohhhkaaaay then.
Come the spring, come mild weather and gentle winds, babe, I promise I'll stand there and make small talk with you over the baby bak choys (because you are cute); but not when I have wild banshee hair (winds at 59 km/h, remember?), eyes tearing behind catty red speccies, and am standing in the fucking cold.
"Good morning!" he said heartily.
I looked up in surprise at him, wondering to whom he was talking. His eyes were focused on the other side of the make-shift table displaying the baby bok choys, and not at me, but since there wasn't anybody within a two meter-radius, I had no choice but to assume he was talking to me; good manners kicked reflexively in and I dutifully replied, "Morning."
Then came the inevitable question: "How are you this morning?"
Let's see - it's 7°C with Southwesterlies going at 59km/h, I have on two layers of clothing, neither of which is made from materials prefixed with thermal; walking the one block to the market, I've lost all feeling in my cheeks and nose and fingers; I'm barely awake, having only slept around two, because after Carrie's farewell-party and we'd all gone home (I, having judiciously begged off the farewell-drink-till-you-are-completely-plastered session and post-party clubbing), Jaya rang me up at 00:22 to say Aileen was home from Sydney, come on up to her room, she was distributing pressies, and I stayed in Aileen's room chatting till it was nearly two; I feel bloated, fat and ugly; I'm grouchy because of my period; and I'm hungry.
This, obviously, is too much information to be sharing in the cold, freezing my tits and ass off, not to mention he is a complete - if familiar - stranger; thus reviewing my options, I chose the most economical answer: "Cold."
At this point, it usually would be the end of this sort of small talk (at least it would've been if I'd been in the supermarket), so I turned away with my two bunches of baby bak choy and headed off to pay for them ... just as he asked, "Why?"
A beat. (Huh? What kinda dumbass question is this? Cold is cold is cold! Everybody else around us is swaddled to their teeth and here I am with nary a muffler - and you're asking me why?!)
Then, as if he either realized what a ridiculous question it was, or that I'd already walked off, blurted out, "Okay!"
Oooohhhkaaaay then.
Come the spring, come mild weather and gentle winds, babe, I promise I'll stand there and make small talk with you over the baby bak choys (because you are cute); but not when I have wild banshee hair (winds at 59 km/h, remember?), eyes tearing behind catty red speccies, and am standing in the fucking cold.
posted by s at 10:20
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