Candour
A perfect woman is the last thing I want.
Excuse me, could you bring us some water and another coffee. A woman is the last thing I want.
A girl was wandering around the tables, she kept turning round, as if waiting for someone to call her.
Do you know her?
No, but she seems to be troubled.
While he was saying this, the girl was fidgeting like a frenzied fan and she ended up knocking over several glasses with a flick of her handbag. This wasn’t a nice situation for a girl to find herself in and a look of embarrassment mixed with shame spread over her face like a mask fallen from the sky.
Of the two friends sharing breakfast, the one who personified the ideal of a handyman, who intervened for the pure pleasure of devoting himself to the challenge, left everything without saying a word and quick as a flash went over to her. The other crossed his legs and shook his head as if to say: there goes the missionary. But he stayed alone and a series of repeated gestures made him a comical figure.
Don’t worry, it’s no big deal, we’ll sort everything out.
She was about to bend down as if she were at home, then she calmed down and got a tea brought over. He was in front of her but slightly to the side so as not to block her view, he invited her to sit down and when she first smiled, she seemed to him like an old-fashioned woman accepting a dance. She sat down on the edge of the seat with her feet in parallel and hands placed on her legs, and without worrying about the charm she was losing, moving just her hand, she said goodbye to the handyman with amusement.