Remember a few days ago when I told you had I a secret I was embarrassed about? Remember that? Well, here goes…
It was a typical morning in the villa. Me getting my lunch together in the kitchen, after eating a light breakfast and tidying up and whatnot. What wasn’t so typical was the knock at the door. Naturally, I go to myself, “Who could that be?” Right? Like anybody who wants to know the answer to that question, I answered the door. Click-clack, clack-click, went my sandals carrying me toward the door, where my hands turned the handle. Who’s standing there with a big pearly grin? None other than Norbit, which ain’t his real name but it’s the first one that comes to my mind on account of how I was thinking when he left my little villa.
“Good morning! How are you? That was so sweet of you to leave the cream for my foot.” He’s grinning all over the place and shines brighter than the sun, which I’d also let in when I opened the door, with his work gear in hand.
“I didn’t leave any cream for you.” I’m looking at him and wondering why this would be such a big deal that he’d have to stop over early to see me had I had been the one who’d done this deed. I mean, I knew about the foot all swollen, which he showed to me the day I moved into a new villa, but I’d thought it was a lot better since I last saw him.
“Really? Someone left the cream and I thought it could be no one but you.” He looks at me disbelievingly ’cause he really wants it to be a woman so there’s potential of getting some poo-nanny in the very near future or probably right then and there, before he got on the bus he was walking in the direction of prior to detouring into my villa.
“No, it wasn’t me, Norbit. Maybe one of the Canadian guys left it for you.” I say this ’cause Norbit’s Canadian and these guys tend to visit and chat it up with one another.
“Oh, nooooooo! A guy wouldn’t do such thing for another guuuuuuy.”
“No? Hmmm…” I couldn’t think of who knew about that foot but me, so I could see how he narrowed the foot cream dropper-offer to be me. “Well, I don’t know who could’ve done it. Maybe you have a secret admirer.” I think it could’ve been my new villa mate but she’s stuck in her room all the time and not that it’s any of my business, but I suspect her to be looking for a husband online. No, she wouldn’t care that much about Norbit’s foot.
“Well, thank you for stopping by the other day. I really enjoyed talking to you. I had a nice time. Hey, why don’t you come by later, around five-ish. Would that be okay?” He gives me a pensive look and since he ain’t bad to look at and tends to have a lotta shit to say, I think, why not. Besides, he’s a fun guy and I kinda figured him to be the white male Canadian version of me, only in an extraordinarily extroverted way.
“Oh, okay. Five is good,” I tell him, as I’m figuring out how I’ll work him in around my work-out time, which is usually at seven if I don’t go early.
He steps closer and asks for a hug, which is normal for him to ask the non-Muslim women folk. Then, he leans in. I turn my face to the side when I see that his lips could very well land on mine and he ends up giving me a smack on the cheek.
“Look, you have a good day, alright? I’ll see you around five.” He’s still bright and cheery and I’m feeling strangely peculiar about this slight twist and tangle of our relationship. Early on, I’d decided I didn’t want him to like me that way.
“Okay, Norbit. Same to you.” I watch him limp out carrying his attache case and it feels as though I’ve shunned my husband a kiss before he’s left for a hard day’s work. I feel embarrassed for him limping off that way and me thinking how goofy he looked doing so, after this awkward kiss over some foot cream.