Use a bit of gunpowder

In the last few days of that summer, we shared a rock at a small cove with three fifty-something Italian women. Every morning they came in a single file, they would politely say hello to us, take their bikini top off and start swimming.

The first day, just after they had come, a local guy with shorts and a straw hat arrived by sea on a small wooden boat singing “Que Viva España” at the top of his voice. The Italian ladies threw themselves at him like mad and climbed into the boat. Afterwards, the guy looked at my friend Gloria and me and asked us:

- How about the chicks… aren’t you coming?

We politely replied “No, thanks”. But after a week of rowing every day to the rocks to ask us the same question, the boat guy started causing me such a bellyache that I wished with all my heart that a typhoon would blow him out of the map.

My replies stopped being funny and polite, but the guy could care less: he would drool over us and ask if us chicks would join the group. The last day we saw him, he unhooked one of the oars and gave it to me to help me climb on to the boat:

- What about the chicks? –he went, just as he did every single morning-
- No way man, we’re not going. –I answered-
- Come on girls…

Then I had one of the biggest fits of my life.

My blood concentrated in the veins of my neck and with the same anger and ferocity of a Maori haka dance, I shouted:

- Look, you prat, I’ve said ‘no’ a hundred times. If you ask me again if I want to climb on to your boat, I’ll sink it here right now.

The guy got really angry and threw the oar at me. It got lost amongst the rocks. I took it and waiving it in the air, I shouted:

- How are you going to row now, you idiot?

One of the Italian women, alarmed, rushed towards me, took the oar and threw it back into the boat.

- I’ll get you another day, you bitch. –he shouted at me-
- Go to hell, you idiot, and take them all with you. But it better be soon. –I said, pointing at the Italian ladies-
- I’ll be back. I’ll give you your comeuppance.
- I hope you get screwed, and right now.

The Italian women tried to calm the boatman down, who kept on looking at me while they were slowly leaving. He shouted at me from a long distance:

- This is only the start. I’ll remember your face, bitch.
- Oh yeah? And what do you think of me? I’m gorgeous, aren’t I?

And I began bellydancing along the rocks, waving my arms around. The Italian women took control of the oars and moved the boat out of the cove. The guy kept on swearing to me until he disappeared into the distance. Then I began laughing when I saw Gloria’s unsettled face.

- Are you crazy or something? –she asked me-
- What? Don’t tell me you wanted to go!
- Not really, but maybe a bit of diplomacy would have worked better.

What a big mistake.

Diplomacy won’t help when people stubbornly refuse to get the meaning of the word ‘no’. Sometimes it’s better to use a bit of gunpowder.




'Knock 'em out' (Lily Allen)