Gimp Guy and I had lunch together at a trendy and popular sushi spot in the 2nd district yesterday. When GG attempted to alight from the flimsy cafe tables perched on the sidewalk dining patio, EVERY lunch-goer stared. I do not elaborate. If only I had whipped out my iPhone quickly enough, the snap could have been used for sensitivity training.
Please, please stop staring at my husband. Yes, he is undeniably handsome, I understand. At two-plus meters in height, with red hair and a grayish-red beard he does indeed stand out a bit around town. I have no problem with that, either. But that is not to what I refer.
My guy is currently sporting a walking cast for an ankle fracture. He also has a crutch–it’s quite the package.
Good people, he is not a freak attraction. A passing glance? Of course. That is natural. A statement of curiosity from a child, also natural. But for grown adults to stare, and stare, and stare, as he crosses an U-Bahn platform, attempts to board a train amidst the crush of “on a hurry” commuters, or walks along the sidewalk, is plain rude. On our outs-and-abouts, even to the grocery, the obvious staring has made me uncomfortable, too. Do you good people exit public life when a calamity has befallen you? I know that expectant moms are required to take maternity leave from their workplace two months prior to their due date here, but for what reasons I do not know. Are we breaking protocol? Should the expectant and infirm (or slightly gimpy) be out of sight?
No more staring, please?