Why is it that people believe that they are somehow entitled to know personal details?
I have lost count now of just how many people have walked up to me and asked questions for which they have no right to an answer. What business is it of theirs where I come from or how I acquired the scars on my face? What business of theirs why I wear gloves all of the time or what I do for a living? The details of my past or present circumstance has no bearing on their lives, so why do they feel the need to ask? These people are strangers to me and I to them. If they have a wish to become acquaintances, or even friends, then surely they can stay to more innocuous subjects until such a time as we know one another better? No, of course not. They are merely nosey and feel the need to know everything from a simple polite greeting.
It is most vexing. My life, my past, my reasons and origins are my own and not theirs to pick over like starving vultures seeking sustenance from gossip. This sudden interest in breaching the boundaries of my privacy does naught to improve my irritable state of mind.
There has been some cause to smile, though. Dear Blodwynn came to see me. That wonderful ditzy woman always cheers me up, even when she does not mean to. There is just some strange contagious joy about her that it is difficult to ignore even when one is in the foulest of moods!
We had a good long chat. It has been a goodly amount of time since we were last able to do so what with one thing and another. To my surprise, she was alone on this occasion which was nice. As much as I care for Baradar he seems to be unable to part himself from her for so much as moment as if fearful that she will disappear without trace should he take his eyes from her for even a split second. I realise that he loves her dearly, and she him, but sometimes it is pleasant to just have a talk between ourselves without a man hovering around. Were our situations reversed, I would find his attentions to be quite suffocating - but I am not she and perhaps she likes it.
She brought cake with her which turned out to be both very tasty and quite fortuitous. At some point during our talk Davick put in an appearance. His first act was to take a piece of paper, scrunch it up and throw it at the back of her head, thus disrupting us. I cannot say that I was particularly pleased with that and my mind turned swiftly to all the times that he had done such things to me - or more specifically, all the times he had poured ale or wine over me for the crime of talking to another man. I decided that it was high time for me to retaliate.
Revenge, as they say, is sweet - quite literally so in this case. Having been given a particularly gooey cake made up of flaky pastry, cream and blackberry jam, I picked that as my weapon of choice. It sailed through the air like some kind of avenging spirit and hit him straight in the face, covering his features and clothing in its delicious content. I must admit that there was something immensly satisfying in that!
Blodwynn seemed both shocked and delighted by it, asking if she was allowed to do the same. By then, though, he had already departed to get himself cleaned up. She congratulated me for a good throw and proclaimed that I am no longer a mouse. I pointed out to her that I still remain non-violent, however cake is neither deadly or at all likely to cause an injury so it made for a perfect weapon and one that I shall use again if necessary!
Ah cake and Blodwynn... how I have missed them both!
