There’s a Cow in the Room

Brian was attending the wake of his work colleague, Barry Rajacostellino. He never really liked the guy that much, although he had sat next to him at work for the last four years. Four years of putting up with garlic breath and his constant snorts instead of just blowing his nose.

He was a strange guy by name and nature. Born in Australia to an Indian guy and his Italian wife. The father wanted to pass on his surname's tradition. He also took his wife’s surname, hoping it would help him access her wealthy parents’ estate, hence Rajacostellino.

Barry was his first name. They chose it so he would fit into Australian culture. It all backfired rather badly on Barry. He took the ridicule very well and often made jokes about it himself. Ironically, he got hit and killed by a gelato truck. Brian’s boss had asked him to attend the funeral and wake as the company representative.

He did not know many of the people there, but he was doing his best to mingle. A glass of cheap red wine in one hand and some sort of savoury in the other hand. He did not quite know how to describe the savoury. It looked like a small dog turd on a cracker and didn’t taste that much better.

He chatted with a guy named Rajaput, waiting for the right moment to ask him about it. When a cow walked past toward the other side of the room.

He took a second look and then at Ranjaput, who did not seem in the least bit phased.

“Is that a cow?” asked Brian, realizing what a stupid question it was.

“Yes, Sir, Isabella,” replied Ranjaput. He excused himself. He said he needed to check on his mother. She was sitting against the wall, close to where the cow went. To his disbelief, Ranjaput’s mother started feeding the cow the very same savoury he had in his hand.

He had to find somewhere to dispose of this savoury. He turned around quickly, too quickly, and dropped it right into the chest of a pretty lady.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” offered Brian as she proceeded to fish whatever it was out of her bosom.

“No problem, my fault. Can you hold my drink while I get rid of this?”

Barry figured she was more Italian than Indian, so she must be from Barry's mother's side of the family.

When she returned, wiping her breast with a serviette, “I’m Rosetta,” she said, extending her hand.

“Brian,” he replied. “How did you know Barry?” said Brian, trying to start a conversation.

He was so focused on her bust that he didn't see the cow sneak up. It shoved Rosetta from behind, making her spill her drink all over Brian’s suit.

“Porca miseria, che disastro ho fatto! (Damn, what a disaster I've made!),” yelled Rosetta in a high-pitched Italian rant.

"Oh, it’s OK, you do realise that was a cow that poked you in the arse?” asked Brian.

“So?" said Rosetta, "I will get some napkins for your shirt,” making a hasty exit. This left Brian face-to-face with a cow that was looking directly into his eyes as if to say, “What have you got for me?”

The best Brian could do was “Moo-ooooo.”

To Brian’s horror, the cow replied, “Mooo—ooo—oo.”

Here he was at a wake of his work colleague, talking to a frikkin cow in the middle of the room.

“I see you have met Aunty Isabella,” commented a really tall guy with a strong Australian accent. He was swaying on his feet like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and had obviously had a bit too much vino!

“Don’t give her anything to eat or she will be your friend for the whole party,” he said, laughing as he did.

“It’s a frikkin cow at a wake,” replied Brian, still not believing what he was seeing.

“So?” said the tall guy. “Let me get you another drink. Looks like you could do with one; your glass is empty."

Brian decided this was all too much for him. He had made an appearance, and now he was out of here. He headed for the door.

As he exited, he looked back to make sure Aunt Isabel was not following him. Nope! There she was, just about to push some other unsuspecting person in the backside.

Till next time,

Calvin

Submitted for the "Everyone is Acting Normally Challenge."