As we are shooting the crap at Klaudio’s, the subject of insult suddenly comes up, and I am startled by the realization that it is nigh impossible to insult me.

Addendum I (March 5, 2013)

It may still be nigh impossible to insult me, but it turns out to be possible enough nonetheless. And I met my match only four months after the subject of insult was bantered about at Klaudio’s. I was called a furešt at the last public meeting concerning golf development in Motovun, which took place under the auspices of the municipal council. Foreigner, that is. Or someone who does not have any right to dabble into local affairs, such as golf development. Crooked or otherwise, it was none of my business. So many years later, I am still railing from the insult perpetrated by the mayor of Motovun and his political stooges. Having spent most of my life in foreign lands, where I have never been called a foreigner, this is what I was called in Istria of my ancestors. Even worse, I was called a furešt in the local Venetian dialect. At any rate, I was boasting in vain that day at Klaudio’s. I should have known better, too.

Addendum II (August 15, 2016)

Three years after the first addendum was penned, I am perfectly happy to reassert my claim from eight years ago. Even more, I am happy to make it stronger: it is impossible to insult me. Period. As for my weakness in the meanwhile, it was only a passing one. By now, it is history. Go ahead and call me a furešt in the land of my ancestors, and I will not even blink an eye. Actually, I will concur with a smile on my face. Yes, I am a foreigner in Motovun. I am a foreigner in Istria and Croatia, as well. More to the point, I am a foreigner on planet earth. Case closed.