在先后被两个陌生人错认为是我丈夫的妈妈后,我一度心情沮丧,甚至怀疑他偷偷用了我的面霜。但当他字斟句酌地讲出“You look lovely”这一“事实”后,我释然了。
My husband is only nine months younger than I am. But lately people have begun to mistake him for my son.
Picture[1] the scene. I have persuaded him to accompany me to my local supermarket in eastern Zimbabwe.[2] I am relishing having someone to trot up to the bread counter, then back to the shopping trolley, off to find some vinegar, back to the trolley, while I muse languidly by the peanut butter.[3] “I must do this more often,” I say to myself happily.
We proceed to the till[4]. A security guard comes closer to help pack our groceries[5]. He greets me warmly: “Hello Amai” (mother).
I smile at him.
“Is this your son?” the guard asks.
“My son?” (My husband says afterward that my mouth dropped open.) I start to stammer[6]. “H’s ... h’s my husband!”
I beat a hasty retreat from the store vowing to always shop alone.[7]
Then it happens again.
This time we have been stopped at a police roadblock[8], one of several on the main highway between the capital, Harare, and the border town of Mutare.
An officer peers in through the driver’s window. “Where is the daddy?” he asks.
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