“If you overheard somebody specifically talking about you, what would you ideally like to hear him or her say?” I asked Guido cryptically in bed last night.
Naturally there was the usual time delay pause before any signs of life sprang from the darkness.
“Hypothetically speaking where is this person and where am I?” said Guido equally obtusely, “and does this person already know me, and do I know them?”
“Let’s keep it simple,” I said propping up a pillow.
There was another pause.
“Do I like this person or is he or she a total pain in the arse?” asked Guido.
To maintain blog clarity at this juncture please let me be clear to any readers in the north American geographical area that at, “arse” what Guido really means is, “ass”.
“Well it doesn’t really matter because this person is only imaginary, not actually a bona fide friend, and I’m assuming we like our friends (unless we’re being trounced at poker – you know who you are.) For the purposes of this particular little scenario let’s stay neutral.”
“Like Switzerland?” asked Guido.
“Yes,” I said, “but thankfully we’re in bed so can avoid any unnecessary border controls.”
“Okay,” Guido said giving me the thumbs up, “fully understood. I just like to know where I stand on these things before I give it my full and undivided attention.”
Good grief, was it just me or was this getting overly complicated? I was beginning to wonder if this line of questioning was worth all of the aggrevation. Never mind getting into bed, at this rate we’d soon be getting out of it again, as it would be dawn.
“I suppose I’d want to hear something like – Congratulations Mr Guido Vasquez, you’ve just won the Euro Millions Lottery Rollover Jackpot.”
“That would be nice,” I said because £22 million would be a big help, “but, what if someone said something about you?”
“You see,” said Guido, “I do realise of course where you’re going with this because when you start a conversation asking me a question, I know it’s very rarely about what I think, it’s about what you think.”
Goodness, this guy was more intuitive than I’d ever have thought.
“Okay smart arse,” I said (where applicable please insert an “ass”), “it’s just that I heard two guys talking about us at the bus stop this morning.”
“And?” said Guido. I could tell he was intrigued because he’d screwed the lid back on the jar of peanut butter he had between his thighs.
“One guy pointed me out to another guy and I heard him say that I was sleeping with a chef who made a terrific salsa verde.”
“Which was obviously me,” said Guido, because obviously it was him.
“Doesn’t that disturb you?” I said. “I just felt like I was somehow secondary to a combination of parsley, garlic, capers and anchovies.”
“Well let’s put it this way, it would disturb me if they said you were sleeping with a chef who made a tasteless salsa verde,” said Guido sagely. He took the top off the peanut butter jar again, “Where do you want me to spread this?”
If only complete strangers knew what Guido could do with a spatula and a liberal amount of Reese’s spread. I certainly wouldn’t be able to travel on the bus anymore.