The only things I truly feel anxious about are group projects, speaking to distant relatives on the phone and watching the last piece of anything delicious not getting eaten. However, I discovered a new fear, one that is so pure, not many would be able to comprehend. I recently had dinner with my roommate and her friends. For those who haven’t been following, my roommate is a 75-year-old Italian woman who doesn’t speak English. Her friends are no different.
I was heading into the kitchen in the afternoon when she asked what I was doing for dinner. She gestured a fork going into a bowl motion and said, “you eat dinner, solo?” I nodded, “Si”. She then made a face which was a mix of shock and horror, then shook her head and said, “No”, she pointed to the ground, “come my friends, 8 hours” made fork going into bowl motion, “dinner” she said as she put her air-fork down, “you come”.
I had just been invited to dinner by Dina. I asked her if she needed help but I was hoping she would say no because I now had to rearrange my schedule. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and went into my bedroom. “It’s 6 o’clock”, I said to myself, “she said 8 hours, okay, I have two hours.”
In a panic, I got changed and started to work out. I punched the air, I lifted my legs high and squatted almost Nicki Minaj low, like at least a full 50%. I didn’t really sweat but I figured I should shower out of respect for the elderly. Then 8 o’clock came around. I wore my peach woven sweater which I bought for one euro from some old woman on a street corner and my Lululemon lounging pants which are deteriorating in the crotch region. No socks – there was no time.
I went and sat on my desk chair and stared at my black computer screen. The doorbell rang. Dina opened the door and I heard three distinctive Italian voices barge into the apartment. They probably didn’t barge, but the volume indicated overexcitement. Well, one probably barged in, she was a little more plump than the other two.
At this point, I wasn’t sure if I should go greet them, or just appear when the food comes. I heard one lady ask Dina, why are there five seats. Dina then called my name. I rose from my seat and headed to the kitchen. I turned the corner and revealed a large smile to the three unidentified ladies that were already seated at the kitchen table. They said something to me incomprehensible, I smiled and said my name a couple times. I took a seat at the table.
There were two women sitting across from me. On the left, was the plump one who had large bags under her eyes that are covered by her pink prescription lenses. On the right, was a woman who didn’t have any specific physical quality, however, she was definitely a hand talker. Dina was on my right, squatting on a stool that was slightly higher than everyone else’s chair. The one on my left was wearing a brown turtleneck and had a smile you would want to see if your dog just died. They seemed sincere, however, in their eyes, I saw calculations. I quickly discovered that all three ladies were psychologists. I pointed to my head and asked, “are you psychologists?” all three smiled and said, “Si”.
I worked at a psychologist clinic, I knew how this shit works. I smiled and say, “Va bene”, as I jabbed my fork into my warm spinach ravioli. The only way to prevent a panic attack is to avert my attention to the food.
Lemme tell ya, we had a true Italian meal going on. The ravioli was stuffed with cheese and spinach, the bread and goat cheese were spread out in front of my plate and the meatballs didn’t even leave me thinking about miniature testicles – that’s how good. Once I secured a plate of food, I decided to look up from my plate and attempt some sort of socialization.
The minute my head raised, the questions came firing at me. Where are you from? Do you have any brothers? What school do you go to? Why don’t you go out at night? Do you like living with Dina? I get it. If I wanted in the Golden Girls, I’d have to pass initiation. After I mimed all my answers, we went into the real nit and grit of conversation topics.
“You are a flower”, said the plump, eye bag lady. “Ragazzo?”
Oh, plump lady, let’s not talk about boys.
For the next twenty minutes, we mimed about boys.
We then went into the topic of tomatoes and the how though certain foods should not be mixed, you should mix them because they taste delicious. It was less of a debate and more of a nodding contest.
This conversation brought us to the topic of cats. They were curious about my level of animal devotion. I told them I have a cat. They asked for a photograph. I provided them with a picture. They were pleased. They asked what the name of my cat was. I then spent the next ten minutes trying to act out a squid. This would have been easier if I did not name my animal after another animal.
I then asked them if they had any animals. All of them had multiple cats, except for the plump one, she wasn’t an animal lover. We then went around the table, as they all told me all the names of their cats.
I didn’t really know where to take the conversation after we reached the final cat name. So, Dina brought out her laptop and we watched Italian youtube clips. They would reenact the lines from the clip as they all ate oranges, the one on my left in the turtleneck opted for a pear. I found a quick escape to my bedroom during a comedy clip about the Catholic church.
I felt shortly after to find a store that sold chocolate. When I returned, everyone had left and Dina was tucked into bed.
I think I’m the fifth Golden Girl. Bitches
thelonelyserb 