Jamshid’s Story – Part 1

The other day my old friend, Jamshid, came to see me. The store was quiet and customers were nowhere to be found. We sat in the back office and chatted about everything, this and that and so on. He then started telling me what had happened in his household not too long ago which I found very interesting. It made me sit up and listen. So here goes the story:

Jamshid: I had a call from my wife, Ladan. She sounded ever so excited. What is the matter, Ladan jan? Is there anything wrong, my Cutie Pie?

Ladan: I just had a call from Farid. He tells me that he is bringing a friend with him to spend the holidays with us.

Jamshid: That is OK, he has done this before, bringing college friends over for the holidays. No need to torment yourself my Little One.

Ladan: This one is different. He is, you know….

Jamshid: What, what? A girl? Alhamdolellah, finally I’ll see my son with a girl. I was getting worried about him.

Ladan: He is not a girl.

Jamshid: So what the hell is he? A Marcian?

Ladan: He is a homo…..sexual.

Jamshid: A what?

Ladan: You know, gee ay why.

Jamshid: Why what? What are you saying to me my Sweat One?

Ladan: Baba yani ham jens dooste!

Jamshid: Yani koonieh!!!???

Ladan: Tore khoda injoori harf nazan Jamshid chendesham mishe!

Jamshid: I say what I see. If you want to sugarcoat it, it is up to you, my Little Fandogh.

Ladan: I am going to call Monireh khanoom.

Jamshid: What does Monireh khanoum got to do with this? Is she going to make him straight, my Singing Piccolo?

Ladan: I’m going to ask her to come and change the decor of our living room and also to improve the look of the rest of the house.

Jamshid: What the hell for? What is wrong with the decor of our lovely home, my Only Angel?

Ladan: Azizam we are having a homo……sexual man coming to our house. He will notice all the flaws. You know how gifted and sensitive they are. They are born that way and notice things like that and get all upset and become moody. He is probably studying to be an interior designer or something artistic like that. Our house must look perfect. Don’t you see, darling?

“For the next two weeks or so Ladan and Monireh khanoum and her co-workers shopped, painted, and sewed. By the time they finished, our home looked and smelt like something between a Grecian palace and a Moroccan brothel. Little white statuettes of nude men stood here and there staring me in the eyes. Deep colors of reds, yellows, and pinks splashed on the walls. Printed pillows of odd and rude shapes and sizes laid everywhere.” Lamented Jamshid.

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