The cable guy.

As soon as I come home from my bike ride from school, I shower and put on a sarong. I was in my room when the doorbell rang, and I saw a man waving to me on the front porch. I waved back not recognizing him without my glasses, but didn’t hesitate to open the door. After all, I have a security guard. He had already removed his shoes, and stepped past me. “Cable, Madame.”

“I don’t have cable,” I answered, following him into my own house. “I don’t even have a TV.”

“No, no. Of course. Upstairs. There’s a problem upstairs. Just take a look in back.”

He was a young man and smaller than me. I showed him through the kitchen unlocked the back porch and he stepped outside. I waited absently as he looked upstairs and drew lines in the air of imaginary wires. “Just take a look inside.” He stepped past me again, and I relocked the door to find him in my bedroom. “Here,” he said, “I’ll just run the wire from this window to this one.” He shook the bars that guard all of my windows. “Are these strong?” He asked.

“I don’t want any cables in my house.” I responded sternly. “I didn’t come to India to watch TV.”

“Nice art. Do you have children?”

This line of talk always makes me smile as I think of my 4 wonderful kids. “Oh, yes. . .” and as I started to blab on about them.

“And the Mister? Is he here with you?”

“No, he is staying in the US until after the election, when we elect Mr. Obama.” I started to think something was a little fishy.

He looked under my bed.

“Madame!” he said. “It is very dirty under here! I will just clean this for you.”

I laughed at him. “OK. It’s time for you to go.”

His phone rang and he babbled on into the phone. HE covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and said, “My boss—1 kilometer away.” He finished his call.

“I mean it now, you have to go. No cable.”
“No problem, Madame. Just one small kiss.”
“One small kiss! Get out of here. Come on—right now.”
As I pushed him away, he leaned over and kissed my shoulder. I couldn’t help but laugh—it was beyond absurd! He was remarkably strong. I gave him a good shove, still thinking it was funny.
“Oh! Madame! Sorry, sorry! Just a small affection! You see I love all foreigners! Please just one kiss!”
“OUT! OUT! OUT!”
He made another lunge for my delectable 56 year old saggy shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, Madame! I cannot help myself. Just a small kiss,” he said reaching for me.

“If you don’t get out, I’ll call Permal!” Isaid and gave him a good push out the door I had managed to open. He stuck his foot in the door. I looked into his eager young face.

“Madame! One kiss?” he pleaded, and I banged the door against his foot and slammed the door and locked it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” he called through the door just before he dashed out the gate and down the street.

I went outside and told Permal never to let him in again. “Bad man!” I gestured.
I called up to Jerry, upstairs. No cable problems.