Here's a little tidbit about French Boy. You see, he suffers from a cultural kickback I like to call his latin drama. It's a peculiarity that occurs at least once a day. An otherwise calm soul, with a heavy lean toward pragmatism and the commonsensical, his latin drama comes unexpected - everytime - and while only lasts for a moment or two, it's enough to catch witnesses off guard and result in making me belly laugh - everytime.
And this morning's scenario is one such example...
All was going smoothly. As he leaves the boat, he flashes a big happy smile my way and blows me a French kiss from the other side of the bridge. Off he walks to catch his tram to Centraal Station. About 10 minutes later, I get a call. My ear is instantly assaulted by the very loud music of the buskers that I immediately recognise to be those at Centraal. Then, with a calmish voice French Boy says to me "can you please hurry and look on the clothes basket for my visa card and pin card." A question mark lights up above my head. So I look and I see nothing. "There is nothing here babe" I reply. Enter, latin drama, stage one: "What? Are you sure, are you sure? Can you look again, look around!" "Babe, there is nothing here, I promise you, do you think they have slipped out of your pocket?" "Oh shit, oh shit!!" Enter, latin drama, stage two: sheer, irrational, uncontrollable panic: "They were in the back pocket of my pants, they were there! Now they are not here!" The buskers are getting louder, and the panic in his voice is writhe. And this time, he has even managed to pass it on to me: "Shit, are you sure babe, are you sure? Hang on, let me think...". By this time I can feel the drama peak over the phone, and I imagine his eyes suddenly firey and vacant while he undergoes the 'spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch' check at triple speed, over and over again. The buskers are loud and unrelenting. "Babe" I say, "did you check your rucksack?" "YESSSS!" he shouts and then silence. Except for the buskers. "Babe?" "Oh" he says, "they are right here, in the rucksack." Enter stage three of latin drama: firey eyes turn back to twinkling jewels, he smiles, he chuckles at his own expense, and carries on with his day.
I go back to sipping my tea, wondering what tomorrow will bring.