It was one of those rare days when I had the chance to relax and actually tackle a mountain of housework at home. As fate would have it, Eleni called out of the blue and, without so much as a polite hint, informed me that she and her son were on their way over. Honestly, I tried every excuse under the Greek sun to explain that I was knee-deep in cleaning, but apparently, she didnt register a single syllable.
Before I could even blink, they were ringing my bell. Lets just say I wasnt jumping with joy to see little Christos, who is notorious in our neighbourhood for his endless energy and questionable indoor manners.
We gathered in the kitchen, sipping frappés like civilized Athenians, while Christos parked himself in front of the TV, glued to cartoons. Suddenly, a monstrous crashing sound exploded from the living room. By the time I darted in, my precious aquarium was shattered fish flailing on the carpet, and water making a fast getaway to all corners of the apartment.
Eleni sprang straight to Christos to check if he was intact, while I armed myself with a towel and heroically battled to prevent the entire building from becoming Atlantis. After the disaster was somewhat managed, Eleni declared they were heading home.
Can you help me drag the rug to the cleaners? I pleaded with the desperation of a woman facing a carpet drenched in fish water. No, Christos is traumatized, we have to go soothe him, she replied, as if Id asked her to carry Mount Olympus.
When I finally got around to asking Christos why he was fiddling with the aquarium, he explained oh-so-seriously that a paper airplane had flown in, and he was simply retrieving it. Naturally, there wasnt a scrap of paper to be found. Christos insisted it was from the closet. Peeking inside, realization dawned the „plane” was crafted from my marriage certificate.
Youll just have to get a new one. Whats the big deal?
Of course, why should I stress? Ill fork out euros for a new aquarium, run to the municipality for a duplicate certificate, and perhaps reimburse the downstairs neighbour for their freshly aquatic ceiling. To top it all, Eleni decided it was my fault for displaying the certificate where her son could access it.
Once they finally left, I paid a visit to the neighbour to check if their flat was still dry, scrubbed my place clean, and collapsed onto the sofa for the rest I so richly deserved. Later that evening, Eleni messaged me demanding compensation, claiming theyd visited a psychologist because Christos was deeply shaken. Instead of answering, I simply blocked her number. Greeks may be warm, but there are limitseven for a day off.
