Every now and then - and so since childhood, from century to century - a lady, different, clear, sneaks up on me in various places and situations.
I wish there was an Elena Francis consultation of the 21st century - even if it was a chat of those who know everything - to check if I'm a fool of sorts, a fool of the ass or a fool of drool to consent to it!
On Maundy Thursday itself, I stood in front of a supermarket with two bags of groceries – in the healthy chain they don't call them plastic bags, all to save the planet!–, waiting for a taxi. Minutes later, a lady did the same, with the only difference being that she was a few meters ahead.
– Now her husband/chat will arrive, double park and help her load.
Instead of the husband, a taxi appeared with the green light whose driver – no doubt an expert in these situations – stopped between the two and gave me a pitying look.
I sympathized with that piece of professional, who already sensed who was first and gave up the shift. The lady showed no interest in trifles and got into the taxi without a glance.
Something tells me that if I protest, I get:
- How unchivalrous!
What I am is stupid. Don't get confused, lady!
Over the years, the radar activates quickly and one detects in different situations – waiting for a taxi, waiting in a bakery-cafeteria, queuing at pharmacies – a profile of a person ready to sneak in with a clueless air.
Since no lady with bags came out, the next taxi was for me. I commented on the anecdote. In his thirties, he clarified his progressive convictions before saying:
- It happens to us a lot and it's almost always ladies, the truth.
Rewinding these types of situations, I came to the empirical conclusion that it is. I have the privilege of always being sneaked up on by ladies and on rare occasions, chaplains or self-styled war reporters. But, they do it with such aplomb that perhaps the prerogative assists them, hence my "always at their feet"!
Mrs. Francis, you understand me, don't you?
