Good Greek Girls Don't

Georgia Tsialtas was born and raised in Brunswick, Melbourne, in an era where it could easily be mistaken for a mini Sparta. With two older brothers she is the youngest of three, and the only unmarried one. Much to her family's initial shock, once she reached her early thirties she broke with the tradition of what ‘Good Greek Girls Don't Do' and moved into her own place without the aid of a wedding ring or a pine box.

Good Greek Girls Don't…
was born when Georgia got over the bar and party scene, realising that there was no happy ending for her there. As Desi's journey was slowly mapped, Georgia began mapping her own journey, and realising that happy endings come in all shapes and sizes, started working towards her own by taking a risk and putting her writing out there for the world to see and scrutinise. While she doesn't know where the journey will lead her, she's doing her best to enjoy the ride.

Good Greek Girls Don't …
By Georgia Tsialtas
Published by JoJo Publishing
‘Yarra's Edge'
2203/80 Lorimer Street
Docklands VIC 3008
Australia

Email: [email protected] or visit www.jojopublishing.com

© 2010 Georgia Tsialtas

No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner: 

Georgia Tsialtas

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Tsialtas, Georgia

Good Greek Girls Don't …

9780980619324 (pbk.)

A823.4

Designer / typesetter: Rob Ryan @ Z Design Media

Digital Editions Published By

Port Campbell Press

www.portcampbellpress.com.au

ISBN: 9781877006296 (Epub)

In loving memory of my father, Athanasios Tsialtas.

Gone too soon but forever in my heart.

R.I.P 18.09.1981

There are so many people without whom this book would never have seen the light of day. First and foremost, my family. My Mum Eleftheria and my Aunty Antonia – two of the strongest women I know. If my characters get their strength from me, then I get my strength from these two women. They both raised me to believe that I could do anything I set out to do – they encouraged me to achieve all of my dreams and to never give up in the face of adversity.
To my brothers Harry and Sof, who were always there no matter how much of a pain I was (and still am!), my sisters-in-law Anna and Lisa and my nephews and nieces: Athan, Billy, Elyse and Toni – yes guys, I really, really am a real author!
A huge thank you goes out to my dear friends who encouraged me right from the beginning to write this book; who read my chapters as works-in-progress and convinced me that there was something good there. Helen, my bestie, and the first person to get a sneak peak at the original, full of typos draft that didn't have an ending. Jenni, my unofficial editor and spellchecker, who coaxed my ideas out of the abyss and onto paper. The beautiful Miss Kylie for spending hours traipsing through Borders with me to look at book covers and figure out what mine might look like.
There are so many more people who supported and encouraged me – there's not enough room here to thank you all, but you know who you are and just how much you all mean to me. But I can't forget Dr Jim Karagiannis – chiropractor extraordinaire! I know – it's an adjustment, not a ‘cracking' but you adjust more than my spine, you adjust my mind and my spirit!
Over my fourteen-year Telco career I have been fortunate to have many understanding and supporting managers, but the one who stands out is Tony Byrnes. Tony fully understood when my writing took my attention away from work, and fully supported the tears that flowed the day I found out that my book would be published.
A huge thank you to the team at JoJo Publishing. I am so glad that I listened to my gut instinct that told me not to submit anywhere else. Something told me this was the place for me – and I was right. This would not have been possible had it not been for the strength and wisdom of my editor Charlotte Strong. You always knew the thoughts that I was trying to get out. ‘Give me conflict … Give me crescendo! Don't Mills & Boon me!' I am so glad that you have been able to share this journey with me from beginning to end.
Finally, a huge thank you to all of you who have chosen to read Good Greek Girls Don't… I am honoured and humbled that my book has made it into your collection.

‘No!' I yell emphatically. ‘I am NOT changing my clothes, Ma!' For God's sake, twenty-eight years old and my mother is still trying to tell me what to wear. I don't think so.

‘Despina, we are going to wedding, not one them damn bars you love. You not going to embarrass me in front of everyone. Change now!'

That's my mother for you, always worried about what everyone else will say, always worried about being embarrassed in front of the relatives and the people that, thankfully, I only have to see when there is a wedding, funeral, baptism or name day that I can't get out of. And just my luck, being Greek, these events come around with great regularity.

‘Ma, relax, okay? It's not like anyone is going to be looking at me.' Jeez.

‘Despina, you no come with your father and me looking like
tsoula
.'

Heaven forbid I should look attractive. In the eyes of the Greek community attractive is considered slutty. They'd all be talking about what a shocking job my mother did in raising me and what a disappointment I was to the family.

It seems to me that my mother and I have this argument every time there is one of these family do's that I can't escape from. There's yelling and screaming about what I'm wearing, my hair, my make-up or about me not wanting to be there at all. Nothing ever seems to get my mother's approval so I've just given up trying and decided the best way to go is as myself. Alas, my mother can't stand the real me, so every now and then I have to put on the good Greek girl image just to keep the peace.

I trudge back to my room and change from my figure-enhancing pants to a nice respectable skirt. Mother wins again. I can hear Dad grumbling away in the background: why can't we ever be on time? Why can't we ever leave the house without all the neighbours knowing that we're leaving? His last question to Mum really takes the cake though.

‘When is your daughter going to grow up? She'll never find a husband this way.'

Notice how this time I am only
her
daughter? But besides that, Dad has just verbalised the cause of most of my issues with my family: my inability to find a husband and their fear that they will become the laughing stock of the Greek community because their daughter is a single spinster.

There's something about the Greek community in Australia that I really don't understand. Why do they think that once a female is approaching, or passing, her mid-twenties and heading into the ‘danger zone' of her late twenties that she is just about past her use-by date? I feel like there's a use-by date stamped on my bum. ‘Marry before the age of twenty-nine or be left on the shelf to wither away into nothingness.' As far as my folks are concerned, the older I get the harder it will be to marry me off. They don't see that I have a very full and satisfying life just as it is.

I have a theory on this whole marriage thing anyway. If you go looking for it, it simply ain't going to happen, and if it's meant to happen, it will. Just because I'm approaching my late twenties and am still single, does not mean that I have to slash my wrists and sit in a hot tub! Now that my stupid, ugly, fat cousin Sophia has managed to land herself an equally ugly and moronic husband, the focus has once again shifted to me. If she can do it why can't I? Good question, and if I had the answer to that I would shove it down every one of my relatives' throats, along with their four course meal at the Ultima receptions ballroom tonight.

I drive with my parents to the wedding, sitting in the back of Dad's Valiant. I can't believe he won't get rid of the old wog mobile. It's not like he can't afford a more modern and less obvious car. But he loves this car. The damn thing has no heating, so we're in the middle of winter and my teeth are chattering because Dad likes to feel the fresh air while he's driving. The two hours spent on fixing my hair have literally blown out the window, all because of Mum's theory that we have to go as a family and that means arriving in one car and leaving in one car. It's all part of a plot to ensure I don't go bar hopping after the wedding. Huh. Like they can stop me!

I managed to get out of going to the church ceremony by fabricating a shift at work that ‘couldn't be swapped'. Doing shift work definitely has its advantages! My day had already been made easier by a nice relaxing shopping trip down Chapel Street, so I knew better than to try and push my luck by attempting to bail on the reception. Besides, the sight of Sophia in a traditional wedding dress, with all the frills and trimmings, was just too good an opportunity to miss. I've always wanted to see an elephant dressed in white trying to manoeuvre her way around the dance floor.

I know I shouldn't be such a bitch – one of these days it might come back and bite me on the bum – but I just can't help it when it comes to Sophia. She's always managed to irritate me. As kids she was always stuffing her face with cakes, and then when we were teenagers and I started smoking; she dobbed to her mother which meant that my parents knew about it before I'd even gotten home from school. She conveniently left out the fact that she was smoking a pack a day by that stage. Thanks to Sophia my parents knew every bit of trouble that I got myself into at school, but she would always come out looking like an angel. How many times did I hear my mother lament, ‘Why can't you be more like Sophia? She's such a good girl.' Little did my mother know that this was the same ‘good girl' that went down on three guys from my legal class at my twenty-first birthday.

So now she had landed herself a husband. I wonder how many houses her dad had to promise to pull this proxy off. Must have cost him some mega bucks to finally get rid of the ugly cow.

It's the standard reception for a Greek wedding. The guests are seated and made to wait forever until the bridal party decides to grace us with their presence. I love it when the parents enter. There's the proud mama and papa entering and doing the royal wave and all the relatives from their side of the family discover their lungs and clap and cheer as if they're at a bloody AFL grand final. Then the newlyweds walk in and cut the ribbon to symbolise the start of their new life together. Someone must have forgotten to sharpen the scissors today because I swear it took Sophia and her new hubby at least five minutes to cut through the ribbon. I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that she couldn't fit her fat fingers into the handle?

Then comes the standard waltz dancing and all the uncles and aunts have to show each other up by competing to see who can pin the most one hundred dollar notes on to the couple. Almost makes getting married appealing, all these people throwing money at you. Almost, but not quite.

When I actually take a closer look at Sophia's new husband, Spiro, I'm struck with the realisation that I know the guy. It takes me a while to work it out but I finally click. I met him at a bar about two weeks ago. What an absolute sucker. He bought me drink after drink, thinking that he actually had a hope in hell with me. He even bought me six roses from the street vendor who goes from bar to bar to find all the desperate suckers who think that real women fall for this stuff.

At the end of the night I reckon I cost this guy a good two hundred dollars and all he got in return was a fake phone number and a wave goodbye as I took off with my mates. The number I gave him was actually the hotline for a sexually transmitted disease advice line. I love my job – working in the telco industry has more benefits than discounted mobile phones. Sometimes you come across information that you just know you can manipulate in the future. So now my ‘oh-so-lucky' second cousin Sophia is married to this slime ball! It's poetic justice really. I can't wait until they do the traditional rounds of all the tables and the realisation hits poor Spiro. I had developed convenient gastro on the night of their engagement so we never had the pleasure of being introduced.