Lying
on my bed after an evening out dining with friends, reflecting on my
day, I am mindful that I now too am dinner for those bloody mosquitos
seemingly immune to the aroma of Citronella. Not to be beaten I lay
awake pretending to be reading until the blighters approached,
tempted by the storyline on my Kindle and then mystified by the text
I squashed them. Sorry Tablet but will clean you in the morning.
,παπούτσια,'
He calls as he weaves his way in and out of the narrow back streets
of Kefalos. And as if scurrying way to hide little old ladies
disappear around the corner just as he turns the other. I'm sure
it's the same woman, little, shapeless black shift dress, headscarf
and flat shoes or short cut Bob so similar from behind you could turn
them into lego characters.
So
who buys these clothes? Surely not designer labels, how many sizes
does he carry? What colour combination or is that a silly question,
perhaps he specialises in the Widow's weeds. But no yesterday he
followed me to Tingaki disporting glitzy, sparkly numbers must have
known my widowhood hasn't followed traditional Black. I too scurried
away, but fancy next time I will boldly go over and try a few outfits
as I am curious to know what Blouse, Trousers or shoes I can Buy.
