The house by H.-J. John

We were at a pizzeria. I ordered a pizza Hawaii, she ordered a pizza Funghi. I remained silent; she spoke.
All I was able to do was sit silent in admiration.
She moved from one topic to the next as if she were a general inspecting his troops.
After the first half hour I had to suppress a yawn. That’s how little I was able to contribute. Slowly I was starting to feel envious.
Suddenly I was wide awake. I realized that, although she was probably twelve years younger than I, she had an opinion about each topic she addressed.
It was as if she were leading me through a house, with rooms and doors labeled “relationship,” “work,” and “family” on the first floor and others labeled “hopes,” “dreams,” and “goals” on the second floor.
I put the rule to the test and started to criticize her. No, she was not completely set in her ways. She stood by her opinion but accepted mine.
An interesting house. What doors might still be undiscovered in the basement and the attic?

© 2011 Hans-Jürgen John