Foreigners as friends

Sounds like small mammals are bouncing off the roof . . .

It's raining cats & dogs outside, while I'm snug as a bug listening to Ben Harper and drinking Dilmah tea.


The phone keeps ringing.

Blessings on the first caller: the telemarketer who's just trying to earn a living. It's not her fault she rang while I was eating dinner and that the warm fire was in the other room, not where I'd had to go to get the phone.

If we'd met at a cafe, made an appointment we'd both looked forward to, I wonder where the conversation might have gone.

"Tell me about your childhood." Well, we might not have started there, but I hope we would have gotten to it.
"How did you come to be in New Zealand?"
"Do you like it?"
"How'd you get in to that line of work?"
"The weather, eh?"

Hopefully we'd have found some commonalities. Women usually can if they've got the want-to.
She'd give me tips for my upcoming trip to India and I'd try to explain the place in the US where her cousins settled.

While possibly very different to look at, as foreigners together we'd possibly become friends.
I'm sorry she rang during my dinner.