Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Tuesday, May 14, 2013 - No comments

Hen Party

Approximate reproduction of a conversation I was (involuntarily) in the middle of while getting my pre-summer pedicure a few days ago.


“Did you hear the fight last night?” asked my kuaför, Ayla Abla.  

Let the salon gossip begin, I thought.

Her neighbour, Ayşe Hanım, leaned forward in her seat on the couch beside me, immediately taking the bait.  

“How could I not?  It was right outside my kitchen window.”  

“So much yelling!  I’m sure the whole complex heard it.   Güler and her chickens....”

“Selma had had it up to here with them pooping on her porch.  She’s right, too.  What business does Güler have raising chickens in the complex anyway?  You’d think we lived on a farm, all that squawking....”

“Did you hear her say she was just ‘airing out the chicken coop?’  Right, airing it out for three days...  Other foot, please.”  

I shook the soapy water off my left foot and placed in on the towel on Ayla Abla’s lap.

“She knew she was in trouble, that’s why she was out there sweeping up their little presents.  In the dark, all secretive - as if Selma wouldn’t hear her broom!”  

She was picking up speed now, her eyes wild. 

“And, boy, she caught her red-handed!  Serves her right.  Dirty birds....”

“You cut your toenails short again!  Honey, I’ve been telling you for...how many years now?  Six years!  Don’t cut them so short!”

“I like them short.”

“You’ll get ingrown toenails!  Don’t cut them so short.”

I shrugged and reached for my tea.  Ayşe Hanım un-paused and saved me from further lecturing.  

“That Güler, she thinks she owns the place.  I wonder if Selma filed a complaint?  She said she would.  If it happens again, Selma should collect up all that poop and stick it on Güler’s front porch - wouldn’t that be funny?”  

She cackled at her own mischief and carried on.

“You know what I just thought?  Oh, what a horrible thought.”  She rubbed her hands together with glee.  “Selma has daughters.  And Güler has a son.  What if he married one of her girls?  Then Selma and Güler would be dunurs!  Can you imagine?”

Ayla Abla roared with laughter.  I was grateful she put down the foot-file until it passed.

“Pretty girls, too,” Ayla Abla added between giggles.  “It could happen.”

“If this were the old days, that’s exactly what would happen.  No one marries their neighbour’s daughter anymore, though.  It used to be enough to know she could cook and clean and had a pretty face.  Now they wander all over town looking for girls.”

Ayla Abla nodded in agreement.  “They want options now, kids do.  And freedom.  No one gets married at fifteen anymore, not like we did.  My daughter wants to wait until after university to think about getting married.  Heck, I want her to wait til she’s thirty.”

“Imagine, though,” said Ayşe Hanım, pulling us all back into the daydream.  Selma’s daughter and Güler’s son.  Then those two could fight for the rest of their lives!  And, just think” - she was on the edge of her seat now - “they could have the wedding in that empty lot out back.  And the chickens would all wander around amongst the guests and poop everywhere.  And Selma would start yelling at Güler because it got all over her shoes while she was dancing.  Oh, the fight that would break out.....”