Cute Girl at the Indian Take-away

She doesn’t just have eyes for me,

the girl who serves me my Tandoori.

Her quizzical glance and little smile,

is not an exchange of irony,

though I do react,

I cannot resist,

when she swallows me in

with big dark eyes

and the world shrinks down to size,

a planet built for two.

I sip on my mango lassi

while I wait for my curry,

and I watch while she does it again,

one after the other,

with all the men.

At last I comprehend.

She finds us hard to understand,

she speaks English but is not fluent

in Australian.

She stares straight at me

with huge eyes like an owl’s,

trying to comprehend

my flattened vowels.

Totally absorbed,

in the groove,

concentrating on how my lips move.

The tremble of her little duck pout

is just her working out

the words I said

by whispering them again

in her head.

“Tandoori chicken roll

on plain naan.”

“With mint sauce?”

“Of course.”

Smile.  Yearn.

What is it

that is attractive about women who do not

understand me?

Like my wife.


This is not about me, or any alleged Mrs Chip.  Its just a story with some bad rhyme.  But the girl is pretty.

“My wife, she doesn’t understand me.”

Perhaps you should speak more clearly.  And brush your teeth occasionally.  It is easier to converse if you can bear to be near someone, and hygiene helps.  Have a bit of a wash before retiring.  And at other times.  It will work wonders.  You think she has let herself go?  Take a look in the mirror, Fatboy Unslim.

“Whaddya mean, the waitress is nice to everyone?”  Wake up to yourself.  You’ve never charmed anyone else.  Its her job.


Dear American readers, “take away” is, I believe, equivalent to “take out”, though not, one hopes, in the sense of taking out the garbage (ie trash), or taking out a girl.  You may have had the experience of purchasing food in that Scottish restaurant* you have, to be consumed away from the premises.

Dear Indian readers (hello Dr Sylvia), please do not judge us by the “Tandoori Roll”.  It is quick, healthy and convenient, and we know it is not the height of your great and wonderful cuisine(s).  It is just that sometimes we are rushed at lunch.

Dear Scottish readers, I know it is not really a Scottish restaurant.  I remember best your desserts.  Ubiquitous trifle.  Poached nectarines.  Shortbread.  Rhubarb tart.  Yummmm.  You can’t get any of that at *.



5 responses to “Cute Girl at the Indian Take-away

  1. Pingback: A simple plea for understanding « WWJCD?

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