A Conversation with Karim

So we're driving around Zamalek in Karim's beat-up Lancer, and he's
telling me about his latest episode with Farida, his crush, and how he
almost talked to her.

"I was this close, I swear. This time I actually walked over to her.
But it's just that I... well, I didn't think the timing was
right," he admits.

I roll my eyes. I've had already three months of this unrequited love,
and I don't think I can take much more.

Karim is six foot tall, kinda goofy, with a scar on his chin that makes
him look like an evil drug dealer, even though he's as tame as a puppy.
He likes to think he has Brad Pitt's sex appeal with the ladies, but
when it comes to Farida, he tends to act like Tom Green.

"I don't want to mess up, that's all," he says, "I've got to get it
just right."

"Karim, all you have to do is go up and say hi. It's not that
hard."

"Well, I... uh..."

It's kind of embarrassing watching this 6-foot tall goofball stutter
and blush about a girl.

"Chicken," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"I said, you're a chicken."

"I am not, Salma, don't be so harsh. I just don't want to give her the
wrong impression."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well," Karim keeps his eyes on the road, but I can tell he's blushing,
"I don't want her to misunderstand me. It's all because of my
theory."

Oh, yeah. Karim has this screwed up theory: guys are afraid of chatting
up girls, because they think that they'd think that they think they're
sluts.

Hmm.

"Admit it, Karim, you're just afraid of rejection," I say, " you're
scared stiff of that girl giving you the Once Over and turning
away."

"Of course I am," he yells, "do you have any idea what that would do to
my reputation? I'd never be able to show my face in public
again!"

Great. Men and their egos.

I bite my answers back; he looks really crestfallen and I don't want to
hurt him anymore. So instead, as we take a left turn and drive down El
Marashry Street,
I offer him some gossip as a peace treaty.

"So, Last night I was at Maroush, and this guy kept bumping into me all
the time. At first I thought, you know, maybe he's clumsy, but after
the fifth time, when he nearly threw me to the floor, I started to get
suspicious."

Karim manages to smile.

"So anyway," I continue, " it didn't make sense to me, 'cause he wasn't
trying to catch my eye or anything. I mean, it wasn't, 'Oh I'm so sorry
I bruised your arm, here let me buy you a drink, what's your name?' So
I figured he wasn't flirting. But then when I left the place, he was
actually waiting outside for me, and when I walked past him, he called
out 'Au revoir, ma cherie'!"

Karim laughed. "Smooth," he admitted.

"Yeah, but was that flirting? Was that guy trying to flirt with
me?"

"Yes, but maybe he was trying to be subtle."

"Like a bulldozer."

"What?"

"Nothing. But how can it be flirting if I didn't know it was?"

"Ahaa," says Karim, and his eyes brighten, "maybe he knows about the
theory!"

Great.

"But when I said I wanted someone to hit on me, I didn't mean it
literally."

We park outside Tobasco Caf?, Karim is
still blabbering about Farida, when a girl walks past the car.

"But I really think I like this girl, and she is so special, and I
respect her, and.. Hey YOU HOT SEXY THING!GIVE ME A PIECE OF THAT,
MAMA!DO YOU TAKE MASTERCARD?WOOOHOOO!!", he yells out of the window at
the girl and wolf whistles.

"Karim, what are you doing?"

"What? I'm just flirting with her."

"You call that flirting? That's harassment.

How can you do that, when I'm sitting here right next to you?"

"What, you jealous? Anyway, she was asking for it."

"Asking for it?"

I try very hard to contain my anger.

"Yes, she's a slut anyway."

"Oh, because she's wearing a tight t-shirt, that makes her a
slut?"

"Yes. And she was enjoying it."

"What??"

My anger is no longer containable. I
reach out and punch his arm hard.

"Ow!" he yelps, and rubs his arm.

"You are such a goddamn hypocrite," I
yell," you can't flirt with a girl you've known for months, but you
have no problem with harassing a stranger on the street? You're afraid
of flirting with Farida, 'cause she might think you're harassing her,
but you're ok with harassing this poor girl, because she deserves it?
What kind of an asshole are you?"

Karim is getting angry. And when he turns to me, I realize that it's
very foolish to make a six-foot tall guy angry, especially if you're in
a small car with him.

"You're not any better, Salma! You whine about how guys are too afraid
to approach you, but you never give them a chance; you tear them apart!
If that guy had tried to talk to you at Maroush, what would you have
done?"

I think about it, and this time it's my turn to blush.

"Well, I'd have.. turned him down."

" Why?"

"Because.. I'd think he'd think I'm a slut."

Here we go. The same old theory again.

Karim smiles his smug, egocentric smile, and we get out of the car
silently.

We've had this fight before, and I know that once we order our coffees
in Tobasco Caf?, we'll be off again: he'll accuse me of being a frigid
feminist, and I'll accuse him of being a sexist pig, but in the end
we're both hypocrites, in our own forms, because society has made us
this way.

And somewhere along the way, he'll light up his cigarette, and I'll
tell him those things will kill him, and a silent peace treaty will
follow.

Because even though he whines too much, and I bitch too much, Karim is
still my best friend.

Even if our own love lives never work out, at least we have our
friendship.

Even if it's with a low-life, sexist wuss like him.