love me anymore. All of Dhaka has pizza-ed at the spunky red
hut. I've even heard of people coming all the way from Chittagong
to taste the real thing, and you act as if it doesn't exist,"
The Hubby whined, and he had reason enough.
but you know I'm not a pizza person", I tried to show him
some reason beyond his reason.
"Should that prevent you from taking us there? I don't
like Hollywood flicks, but I am made to suffer them; the kid
doesn't like shopping, but he's left with little option but
to scratch the toenails of the mannequins at the sari shops;
I don't like…" he protested.
"Hey, I object to that. I'm no sari person, so no cooked
up allegations please".
"Okay, whatever. But that's not the point. Fine, forget
about me, did you ever care to find out how the child feels
about not having been taken to the hottest place in town. Imagine
him buckling under peer pressure, feeling miserable when his
friends talk about the cheese, and the toppings, and the Vengaboyz
jig, the painted walls, and all that jazz. They'll tease him,
boo him, goad him…"
"Enough. Stop your theatrics right-away. Children his age
don't discuss jigs and mozzarellas with one another as you do
with your buddies. Our child is too young to see what he has
(or hasn't) missed, and besides, he doesn't like pizzas. Remember
that time when he mistook the black pan for a flying saucer
and dashed in the direction of the waiter. I don't want any
more disaster-outings. And really, he doesn't like pizzas. "
"See what I mean when I say you're selfish? And a bore?
And a …"
"Alright, we'll go". It is often so simple for The
Hubby to get things done his way. I think it is the dreaded
b-word that does it for him.
a normal weekday, was as good an occasion as any other. The
Hubby spent a good ten minutes finding a parking slot. Obviously,
the ones who found a place inside were in no great hurry to
vacate them. The queue outside resembled those snaking ones
before a lucky-dip counter at fairs, just that this was no free
dinner and these were men and women of fashion; men in tuxedos
and women in amusing hairdos-it was clear that everyone had
come prepared to attend an opera. It happens when you are choking
on innumerable tales of swinging waiters. If they all looked
jumpy (I am certain I did too), it was probably because of the
mild breeze, the not-so-comforting nip, and the even more discomforting
sight of seeing others gobble up big chunks of piping hot pizzas
while we froze on a famished stomach. There were kids too. Few
played with balloons, few with their Hot Wheels or Barbies,
many others threw tantrums to be taken inside the big shop next
door. Our son sucked on his thumb. I knew he was feeling hungry.
strange force of inertia, the queue didn't seem to move at all.
I looked at The Hubby with glowering eyes, but he tactfully
avoided my gaze. The who's who of Dhaka stood there before us,
some opining on how, (and please read this slowly and carefully)
at one of the many outlets of this chain in London, he felt
ripped-off last July because they sprinkled less salmon chunks
than what had been put up on the wall posters, and that the
taste was not half as good as the one he'd had in Athens. Sounds
confusing to you? It certainly must have to the other gentleman
standing before him, because this person's following words were,
"yes, you are absolutely right. There is nothing quite
like the London Piccadily Square joint, they are simply the
best in the world, followed by (as he insisted he'd heard) the
Dhaka one." To which the lady standing before him added
that a Chicago one, where her son had taken her once, had been
the most outstanding experience in pizza-dining. Interestingly,
none of them seemed to mind the queue at all. Deciding I had
had enough of it, I gathered the little fellow in my arm and
started walking towards the car, without as much as looking
at the Hubby. I don't know which path he followed, but he was
there before I had even located our car. I always knew there
was an ace sprinter latent in him.
may, after all, have to wait until the legend of the jiving
waiters becomes less legendary, and some of the pizzazz around
this pizza subsides. We had had to wait for over a year in an
Indian city about five years ago before the Macarena fever died
down. From the look of things, and the queue, it may take longer
in Dhaka. Afterall, the Vengaboyz were a bigger hit than Les