The Romanian Woman In The Spanish Cafe

The Romanian woman with her cigarettes

Told me I looked like the type who read Proust

Because I thought it was the right intellectual thing to do

And that I probably viewed all Eastern Europeans as former Soviets

Wrapped up as I was in convictions without any doubts

She blew smoke rings and smirked as I turned in my seat

Trying to avoid the clove-scented curling flame

For a second I considered foregoing any reply

Then abandoned that idea as being of the weakest conceit

Opting instead to offer her my hand and name

She replied with hers and gave the gentlest of shakes

Then asked if any of her analysis was correct

I told her I had never read Proust, had never considered it

And that not all Eastern Europeans being Soviets was easy to understand

If for a minute she could stop thinking all American men were rakes

Her face reddened a shade and she took a quick drink

Then said she was not judging me as much as sizing me up

As she had been told by friends much of what she had said

Finally meeting an American was causing her to think

She was expecting a bulldog not a cute little pup

Five minutes later and we were laughing, sharing jokes

Commenting to each other on our mutual misconceptions

I told her I expected Romanian women to be cold-hearted bears

She told me she expected American men to be boring cowpokes

We happily helped each other shed our misperceptions

Popeye Arm Syndrome (Another Reminder That Getting Old Is Not For Wussies)

   Note to self: Being old and deluding oneself into believing one can work as hard as one did in their youth is foolish and leads to injuries such as the one shown above (when your bicep tendon ruptures and the bicep muscle bunches up near the elbow) 

   Yeah...now all I have to do for the next several months is apply an icepack to reduce the swelling, rest my arm as much as possible, take an anti-inflammatory such as ibuprofen...or possibly have arthroscopic surgery to reattach the long bicep tendon...oy vey.