I like to think that I am beyond such behaviour but I have to confess to resorting to something similar.
I was walking back from the local shop and an elderly man came towards me. I had my mask on as he did but he had a steely look in his eye that troubled me. He came closer and closer. Heading straight towards my face. His hands were up and apart and pointing towards me and I didn’t like it at all.
I put the first finger of both hands up in the sign of a crucifix and shouted “get back” “voltam” “revenir” “geh weg”. I didn’t know which country to try next as he ignored the first four. I tried Polish “cofnac sie”. Still he came towards me now, I felt, with a menacing look on his face. I turned and fled. Not too quickly as he was elderly and I knew he would never catch me.
Further up the street I felt hot with the experience yet I also felt a strange coolness around me. I looked down to find my blouse completely open. I was mortified. The poor man was trying to save my embarrassment and I treated him like a criminal.
I had small consolation in that it was, at least, one of my prettier bras that was on show. Some of you may remember when Judy Finnigan presented the Bafta Awards and her black blouse opened to reveal a, not so white (!!), bra. The next day the papers were full of it. News must have been slow that day yet interestingly the news was not that the blouse opened but that she committed the unforgivable crime of wearing a white bra under a black blouse.
I felt terrible at what I had done and by the luck of the Gods I saw him a few days later going into his home. This time I was the chaser and I ran to him, pointed at my chest, put my hands together in prayer rather then the crucifix I had used on him to ward off as a vampire and asked for forgiveness. He asked me inside. It was a huge kitchen so we could distance ourselves as I said hello to his wife who was cooking something delightful. I asked for the recipe. She invited me back two days later to show me how to cook it from scratch.
I had a wonderful morning with them and can now cook Bife a Portuguese like a local and my Portuguese, as the only language spoken, is greatly improved. My knight in shining armour, as we waited for the meal to cook, taught me some bad (useful) words to use in the car when I get road rage.
So, bravo, thank you Covid. Maybe you are not all bad. I have made two wonderful new friends. My next cookery lesson is Rodreuis and my next Portuguese lesson is bad (useful) words to use when an old man approaches with bosoms in mind.