Unsolicited advice

I forgot to post this a few days ago when it happened, but I'd just like to draw your attention to two incidents that took place on Monday that I think sum up why part of me hates this country.

Incident #1. While waiting for the bus with a friend, a little old lady beckoned me closer so she could tell me something. I thought she was going to ask me when the bus was coming. The conversation went a little something like this:
Little Old Lady: You're very pretty.
Me (uneasy, thinking, aw crap, I know where this is going): Thanks.
Little Old Lady: But you have to lose weight! (called it) Do you know why? You have to lose weight for your health. I have a niece, she's fat too. But she has four children, and after she had them, she just let herself go. When I was young, I worked in a big apartment building, cleaning. I would go up and down the stairs, carrying big piles of linens, and I would be so busy, I would forget to eat! And when you eat, you have to eat the right foods, and not too much.
My friend, out of the corner of her mouth, in English: Do you want to move?
Little Old Lady, to my friend: Now, you should be listening to me, too. (Back to me) But really, you can't go through life fat, you need to eat right and work, and--

Then the bus came. Oh, man. I don't even know where to start. I don't know what's worse, the fact that she thinks it's acceptable to lecture a complete stranger on her weight - I know, she's an old lady, and old ladies can pretty much do whatever they want because, really, who's going to yell at an old lady? (I was this close, though. If the bus hadn't have come, I might have let loose.) - or the fact that she opened with the "you have such a pretty face" line. It's the second time it's happened to me here. The first was by - get this - a wino at the bus stop in the 17th with rotting teeth and permanently purple lips. I couldn't understand everything she was saying - something about rice, maybe? But the male wino sitting next to her told her to shut up, so I gave him 80 cents as a thank you on behalf of humanity and all those with even the least bit of social grace. Ladies, listen. If I want your opinion on something - anything, but especially on my weight (which, let's face it, is NEVER going to happen - I'm never going to go up to you, whom I've never met before in my life, and ask you, "excuse me, do you think I'm pretty? And what about this whole central region? What do you think of that? How would you suggest I get rid of it so men will like me and I can finally fulfill the dream of every sane woman of finding the perfect man who will love the newly-reduced me and give me beautiful babies and a house in the country so I can finally, once and for all, be a happy, well-rounded-but-not-actually-round, loved human being?), I will ask you. Don't just assume that because I'm fat I don't know how to fix it, or that I'm ignorant of my situation and need you to remind me once again of my rotund status, or that I'm not happy! Jesus Christ, lady. I am happy. Well, I was happy, right up until you had to go and piss on my day by telling me I had a pretty face. At least the senile woman on the first floor thinks I'm pretty - all of me. Probably so much so she'd chop me up and feed me to her cat, but still. She likes me just the way I am, so there.

Also, I call bullshit on anyone that "forgets" to eat. You don't forget to eat like you forget where you put your keys, or like you forget to run to the bank. It just doesn't happen like that, I'm sorry. Even I've been so busy that I made the conscious decision not to eat because I had too much shit to do and not enough time, despite the very noticeable growling coming from my stomach, but never in my life have I ever just forgotten to nourish myself. Bull. Shit.

Incident #2. After my friend's thesis defense, we went out for lunch at a café down the street. It was so nice outside, so we grabbed a table under an umbrella. Then the waiter proceeds to take away the umbrella, even though we strategically sat there so we wouldn't get skin cancer but could still enjoy the nice weather, without even asking us. Then - oh man - then he asks if he can move the tables over a little to give the people next to us more room. Fine with us, so he picks up the table with a carafe and two full glasses of water on it, and CRASH. Nothing breaks, but there is water all over our table, me, and my expensive leather bag. Does he apologize? No. He says something, then, ça arrive, but never do the words "sorry" or "excuse me" come out of his mouth. Then he yells at one of my friends for trying to go up to pay him, since he's taking forever to come back. Well, I'm glad we don't feel obligated to tip. And I'm glad that in two weeks I'll be back in a country where - even if it is artificial - people have the decency to at least be pleasant for the sake of not sending people into a rage over a spilled glass of water and a forcibly removed umbrella.

My mom gets in tonight, and we're leaving on Friday for about a week and a half (Madrid, Barcelona, Avignon), so I probably won't be posting until I get back. But expect some pretty pictures when I triumphantly return to the blogging universe. A bientôt!