Hi, I’m Gisella. This is my old travel diary.

The World. From a blonde's point of view

The "guest-house effect"

14 December 2010 - 11:27am -- gisella
Toothbrushes over my sink.

(Any allusion to You... is not here by chance!)

Once upon a time, we were three. Me, my sister and the Maasai. Mixing Italians and Maasai in the same home leads just one, simple, effect - let's call it "the guest-house effect".

It means people-in and people-out at any hour of the day, better if without any advance notice. It's not so bad, when you get the habit. It makes everyday life more tasty... 'cause it pulls in your walls stories from the outside. And the nice side is that something of your guests always stays, also as the guest himself has gone somewhere else.

Each unexpected visit is defined by a different level of "sweet" intrusiveness. Someone just leaves the shape of his ass on the couch. Someone leaves his fingerprints on the remote, or a new little fellow into the Wii. Someone - sneaky! - changes the order of your DVDs on the TV shelf (a bad idea, very bad...).

You know that an Italian guest has been in our area when you find some salami in our fridge and a bottle of wine on the counter. Italian guests are always useful, in a moment of cookery desperation. But. To be honest, they are the most expensive as well. When they fly away, your kitchen is empty... and your pocket is light!

On the contrary, Maasai guests are very cheap. They like very short stays. They could sleep on a stone, if needed: it doesn't matter, because they wake up at 5.00am. They eat just two or three kind of food - or they don't eat almost at all. But. They are able to forget everything-everywhere! Suitcases containing stuff full of beads and coins, pieces of hair extensions, rubber sandals or sneakers or slippers (depending on their temporary mood). Sometimes they simply abandon pieces of their office or files of vital importance, for months and months. Maybe they consider any place safer than their own hands. I'll ask, one day.

What about the funniest souvenirs forgotten by our Maasai guests? One wrote the password of his email on the newspaper, and left it here as a gift. Another installed two - not one, but two - toothbrushes over my sink. Just like that. As a kind of advice: "You know that I'll be back. Sooner or later, when you don't expect. I'll. Be. Back!".

Once upon a time we were three. Me, my sister and the Maasai. Now, thanks to the "guest-house effect" we are much more. I just have to decide who is relevant as character in this lifelong sit-com, and who isn't. So, if you recognized yourself in the paragraphs above... take a breath! Sometimes I tell about sins, about sinners silence will be kept.