The Angry Greek Man

'Twas a long time ago; so long I am not sure my memory is fully accurate, but let me try to get the story right...

I was desperately in love. I was lonely, bereft, recently abandoned by my ex-husband, and coming to the realization that I was a lesbian. I had had a crush on a woman; a writer with whom I had been acquainted for quite some time. She had moved to Greece and married a Greek man, but I knew she was a lesbian. I didn't know really why she married. It didn't matter though. She seemed a safe distance away, so I professed my crush to her and waited to see what would happen.

What happened first was a wonderful and passionate correspondence between the two of us. Her letters were clever, witty, biting, sarcastic, funny and tender. I suppose mine were doltish by comparison. She was a most talented writer.

Before long it was time for the holidays. She was coming home from Greece with her husband to spend the holidays with her family. And to see ME! I was beside myself. I hardly even acknowledged to myself that she had a husband. I was going to see her. I might touch her. I would smell her hair.

At the time, I lived far in the country down almost three miles of dirt road. I lived in a large house with my two very young sons. I did have a helper -- an old black man named Talmadge. Talmadge looked after us well. I think he felt sorry for me -- a divorced woman alone in the world with no man to look after her. Talmadge spoke in a deep 'Geechee accent which was difficult even for me, a hardcore southerner, to understand. Besides caring for me and my boys, he figures in this story a little later, so I figure I might as well introduce him now.

The holiday came, and so did my wonderful beloved and her immaterial husband. I had worked hard getting my house cleaned and welcoming. I cooked all day. I sent my boys off with their father. I selected wine. I still smoked then, and I smoked a lot that day. They arrived at last. She was beautiful. We talked of many things, but the only one I remember was his hideous foot fungus, the sight of which I was treated to because I am a nurse, and that's what happens when you are a nurse. It grew late. I begged them to stay the night. Somehow, she ended up in my bed, while the egregious Greek man was left on the couch downstairs.

I remember she and I giggled and talked and cuddled nearly all night long. We smoked, though the cigarettes seemed not to agree with her. We finally slept.

When it was morning at last, we sat in bed looking at one another wondering what on earth we had done. The house felt empty except for ourselves -- a fact we discussed in whispers. Finally we gained enough courage to go downstairs to look. Of course he was gone.

We walked outside and could see the distinctive footprints left by the Greek man's shoes in the driveway. They went to the road and took a left turn -- toward Talmadge's house. We laughed nervously at the idea of the Greek with his thick Greek accent meeting up with Tal and his thicker 'Geechee one. My nameless (here anyway) love called her parents' home to see if he was there. He wasn't. So I called Talmadge to see if indeed he had encountered His Greekness. He had.

Talmadge told me how he had just left his home very early in the morning and encountered a lone "white man" walking on the dirt road near his house. Tal picked him up because the man was well-dressed and looked utterly lost and out of place. Apparently it took a while for them to understand one another, but Tal finally understood that the man wanted to go to the bus station. (His wife and I had a guilty giggle over this-- sometime in the previous evening we had laughed over the fact that one thing all small towns seem to have in common is a bus station.) Tal delivered the Greek to the local one, and that was the last anyone ever heard of him.

My beloved had wildly mixed emotions over that, but not I. I was thrilled. She was mine alone now. The way was clear. I wasn't burdened (as she was) by the guilt of having treated him rather horribly. But of course, neither of us knew at that point that she was



pregnant.

Conifera 

I have to comment on the woman whose dog's feet smelled like fritos. They did indeed. I had NEVER before noticed the aroma of dog feet, but her noticing that interesting aspect of her dog's composition has had me sniffing dog feet ever since. And you know what? They ALL have frito-feet. I just hope this isn't because they tend to step in their urine.

Animals are odd creatures. I have found out other fascinating things about animals along the way. For example, if you wrap an ace bandage around a cat's belly, it can't walk. It will stumble and fall. I have tried this on many cats. The bandage doesn't have to be wrapped tightly. No cats were injured in any way during these experiments. I swear. I love animals! But it is a weird truth that they cannot walk with any stability with a bandage around their bellies. I do need to do further research though, and find out if this is true of anything wrapped around their middles, or only elastic things.

I have also learned a strange and interesting thing about parrot behavior. My parrot likes to nip fingers, but he won't do it as long as I stare into his eyes aggressively. But if I am doing that, he will duck his head under my hand where he can't see my eyes, and nip my fingers from BELOW my hand. Damn bird. But this is a very limited experiment. I have only used it on one bird. I'll let you know when I have collected more data.

I don't know what it is about animals that appeals to me so much. Clearly, I spend too much time with mine. I often think how much simpler (and less smelly) my life would be with no pets. But somehow, I have managed to always have at least one in my life, and usually far more than one. Even if I do nothing to actively acquire animals, they just show up. Right now the count is pretty moderate: one dog, four cats, one bird, and a couple dozen fish. Not bad really, until I want to go on vacation. It is almost as hard to get someone to keep your animals as it is to get someone to keep your kids...

oh -- to the woman with the frito-footed dog -- give me a call sometime. It might be interesting to catch up a bit. :)