Unlike Guido, I love the unpredictability of life.
“If you had three minutes left to live and someone said you had to make a choice between eating mayonnaise or salad cream,” said Guido chewing on a salami in our bed last night, “which would you pick?”
Well of course that would depend where and on what it’s being spread. Not to mention who’s doing the spreading. But let’s just be completely clear, if I’d three minutes left to live I seriously doubt I’d be sharing them with a lettuce.
“I’m not that fussy,” I said, “as you know I’ll happily squirt anything.”
I pinched my nose to avoid the overpowering scent of garlic emanating from Guido’s breath.
“And I do like surprises,” I said, ever the hopeful.
I know what you’re thinking. Levels of excitement in my life must fluctuate wildly as I appear to now be getting my kicks from discussing condiments. My mother, Cruella, could possibly call this – the insanity of marital domesticity. I never listen to her advice though I can see her logic. I think it probably explains why she started drinking large volumes of gin and dates very young men.
Guido’s the only person I know who doesn’t like surprises. In fact he doesn’t like anything being sprung on him and I’m not just talking about salad dressing options.
“I hate surprises,” said Guido. “if I was about to nibble a tortilla but it turned out to be an omelette, I would not be amused.” There was a long silence. “Just saying.”
This is the same guy who once freaked out over a clam chowder cooked with mussels. What can I tell you.
“The thing is,” said Guido, “I’ve always known what I’ve wanted in life. So I’ve never considered alternatives along the way.”
Goodness was it just me or was this conversation getting deep. Weren’t we just innocently talking about mayonnaise? What next, how to achieve world peace? As far as I was concerned we hadn’t even exhausted the possibilities surrounding Thousand Island or Calorie Reduced Blue Cheese yet.
I thought about life choices I’ve made in the past. I winced. Clearly the majority weren’t part of my masterplan. Of course that wasn’t strictly true. When I met Guido in the cafe for the first time and he was happily stuffing my ciabatta I instinctively knew I craved a big hairy Spaniard. Especially, as it turned out, he had a curious obsession with sausage. I mean honestly, what’s not to love?
After Gudio switched out the lamp we cuddled up under the blanket like we always do. Predictability felt pretty good after all.
“How do you feel about a trip to Majorca?” Guido said totally surprising me. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “My cousin, Fernando With The Big Hair, emailed me. He’s throwing a surprise birthday party for his son, Carlos With The Big Feet. It’s in September. We’ve been invited.”
I opened my eyes. This surprise was getting better by the minute.
“My parents will cover the cafe whilst we’re away, so I’ve said we’ll be there. Just try not to stare at his big feet.”
I love big feet. I especially like licking Guido’s toes which taste equally good whether they’ve been dipped in mayonnaise or salad cream. As you now know, I’m really not that fussy.