Puta de cana
Feb. 12th, 2015 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootI don't even know what that means...it's a cuss for sure, something like 'Old Whore!' or 'Whore of a Policeman!' I think Cana has several meanings. My Spanish is well ropey, unlike my frustration, which is on the money.
I went to pick her up this morning. Either she's not in, or she's not answering the door. Because there is absolutely no way of getting in contact with her, I hared back here in case she decided to meet me in my hotel in central Granada, contrary to our instructions yesterday. She's not here either. So I am sitting in the salon on the fourth floor, updating here while my head settles and I try to work out what to do next. Maybe she'll turn up here. God, this drives me mad.
Yesterday was not easy for several reasons...There is a quiet but determined contingent holding out for me to have my wedding here, the whole protocol of timing/invitations remains a question unanswered, my mother is - or was, last time I knew - terrified and furious at the thought of me having a honeymoon in Africa, my niece is having her first communion in May, to which she very prettily invited Russ and me, and I don't see how we can make it. Also, the termagent is in great pain right now; how old she looks! I hate to see her in such low spirits. She can barely walk at all, and sits like a crumpled little rag at table, feet on the brazier. She is still full of feist though;
'Can you gently massage my back dear? Just there...you have such gentle hands, saint's hands...'
'Aunty, my hands are cold, maybe I should just warm them before -'
'No, no, it's the cold I likeJesuswhatswrongwithyourhands? They're like ice! Get away, don't even point at me, the cold from them is like a wind from the mountains. Are you trying to kill me?'
Mum dragged me around a number of horrible shops yesterday, determined to buy me something warm - I was fine but she didn't approve of my dress for winter - and finding advice for me on how to lose more weight. She even asked a woman who runs a local cake shop. This paragon has lost 'lots of weight in her face.' The secret, apparently, is Tai Chi. 'All very well,' said Mum, having bought half my body weight in cakes to take to the family, 'But you don't need to lose weight from your face. It's your stomach we need to deal with.'
She reiterated the sins of my stomach - from which I had proudly lost a few pounds, until I got here and started to hit the cerbezas - to my family when they asked if I would like a Sevillanas wedding dress. This is the kind of dress you see on many Spanish dolls and is a basic fishtail, fitted most of the way down, flaring out dramatically beneath the knees.
'No, we can't have her in one of those,' Mum announced to the family, 'Not until she's trimmed a bit. It's a shame, I saw a fantastic one yesterday.' I may take a photo of this glory and put it here as a permanent reminder of the enchantment that could be mine with just a few more situps.
Anyhoo, today. I don't know what to do about Mum. Do I stay here in the middle of town, do I go back to Zaidin? There is always the danger of me getting there just as she gets here. I don't fancy sitting here all day or travelling back and forth in a taxi trying to second-guess her. Pfff.
I went to pick her up this morning. Either she's not in, or she's not answering the door. Because there is absolutely no way of getting in contact with her, I hared back here in case she decided to meet me in my hotel in central Granada, contrary to our instructions yesterday. She's not here either. So I am sitting in the salon on the fourth floor, updating here while my head settles and I try to work out what to do next. Maybe she'll turn up here. God, this drives me mad.
Yesterday was not easy for several reasons...There is a quiet but determined contingent holding out for me to have my wedding here, the whole protocol of timing/invitations remains a question unanswered, my mother is - or was, last time I knew - terrified and furious at the thought of me having a honeymoon in Africa, my niece is having her first communion in May, to which she very prettily invited Russ and me, and I don't see how we can make it. Also, the termagent is in great pain right now; how old she looks! I hate to see her in such low spirits. She can barely walk at all, and sits like a crumpled little rag at table, feet on the brazier. She is still full of feist though;
'Can you gently massage my back dear? Just there...you have such gentle hands, saint's hands...'
'Aunty, my hands are cold, maybe I should just warm them before -'
'No, no, it's the cold I likeJesuswhatswrongwithyourhands? They're like ice! Get away, don't even point at me, the cold from them is like a wind from the mountains. Are you trying to kill me?'
Mum dragged me around a number of horrible shops yesterday, determined to buy me something warm - I was fine but she didn't approve of my dress for winter - and finding advice for me on how to lose more weight. She even asked a woman who runs a local cake shop. This paragon has lost 'lots of weight in her face.' The secret, apparently, is Tai Chi. 'All very well,' said Mum, having bought half my body weight in cakes to take to the family, 'But you don't need to lose weight from your face. It's your stomach we need to deal with.'
She reiterated the sins of my stomach - from which I had proudly lost a few pounds, until I got here and started to hit the cerbezas - to my family when they asked if I would like a Sevillanas wedding dress. This is the kind of dress you see on many Spanish dolls and is a basic fishtail, fitted most of the way down, flaring out dramatically beneath the knees.
'No, we can't have her in one of those,' Mum announced to the family, 'Not until she's trimmed a bit. It's a shame, I saw a fantastic one yesterday.' I may take a photo of this glory and put it here as a permanent reminder of the enchantment that could be mine with just a few more situps.
Anyhoo, today. I don't know what to do about Mum. Do I stay here in the middle of town, do I go back to Zaidin? There is always the danger of me getting there just as she gets here. I don't fancy sitting here all day or travelling back and forth in a taxi trying to second-guess her. Pfff.
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