Some Mothers Do Have Them!

My God, I could hear wedding bells! “I’m getting married in the morning, ding-dong the bells are going to chime!” I sang in my head.
(In his head! Ha! He was singing at the top of his voice without realizing it, oblivious to the looks he was getting from everyone else in the café)
A final pull, and Stella took possession of the sugar bowl, turned her back on me, and sweetened her cappuccino.
"Allora lei piace lo zucchero," I said in my worst accented Italian.  'So you like sugar.'
(Groan)
Stella didn't even glance my way, just drank her cappuccino and left without so much as a backward glance; probably knew she’d do something crazy if she were to look at me again. I had to admire her strength of character, her self-control.
(It’s all his mother’s fault; Italian Mums raise their boys to believe they are God’s gift to the opposite sex)
The excitement over, everyone in the bar went back to what they’d been doing before, and I... I was in seventh heaven. I ordered a second breakfast of cappuccino and cornetto…
(Don’t forget me)
… to celebrate the momentous occasion. Oh, boy! “The hills are alive with the sound of music…” I bellowed. “She likes sugar!” I declared to the bar.
“She likes sugar,” Mayo echoed minutes later, pokerfaced, his mouth full of cappuccino and cornetto.
(Hey, guys, what about me?)
“Wow!” We were sitting at a table outside.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, still on a high. “Isn’t that amazing. We definitely had a shared moment there. We bonded. SHE SPOKE TO ME.”
“Wow.” This ‘wow’ was said with even less enthusiasm than the first. He did not appear to share my excitement.
(No, but maybe he'd like to share HIS cornetto.  I'm certainly not getting any joy from you)
“Why are you so sceptical?”
“Blame it on the nerve connecting my eyes to my anal passage,” he said as he stared at a buxom girl walking past our table. “I bet you didn’t know we all have this nerve connecting our eyes to our anal passage, did you?”
“No,” I answered with a chuckle. “I did not know we all have a nerve connecting our eyes to our anal passage.”
“It’s called the anal optic nerve. Medical fact. Not everyone has one, and the experts can’t figure it out. Apparently, the nerve is responsible for giving people a shitty outlook on life.”
I laughed.
“You don't believe me?”
“No.” I answered.
“No?” he echoed, enjoying himself.
“No!”
“Well, try pulling a hair out of your ass, and see if it doesn't bring... tears to your eyes!” he choked, laughter getting the better of him.
I laughed with him. In the mood I was in, I would have laughed at anything, the sugar bowl experience with Stella still uppermost in my mind.
(Well, I hope she’s a better cook than he is!)

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