I was sitting by myself near the side of the pool the other day, safely ensconced in shadows. Everyone in my party was otherwise occupied, sliding down the water slide or splashing about in the pool. Seeing I was apparently unaccompanied, a pretty little blonde wearing a red bikini approached me, drawn insensibly to my masculine presence. I nodded to her and she was so forward as to sit down next to me, before addressing me in French.
"Je sui desole, je ne parle pas francais", I apologized. She nodded, understanding, and was content to sit quietly at my side, occasionally stealing a glance from time to time. Spacebunny, with that primordial instinct to sense a rival that only women possess, suddenly appeared upon the amiable scene.
"So, who's your little friend?" she asked. Could that be jealousy in her voice? I paid it no mind. Had not my behavior been impeccable?
No doubt intimidated by Spacebunny's bikini-clad splendor, sculpted by hundreds of hours in the gym, the embarrassed little blonde mumbled something that may or may not have been an excuse and walked away. But no sooner had Spacebunny again taken her leave than my new friend was back once more, this time shyly offering a flower as a token of her regard. I accepted it with pleasure, patted the bench next to me, and she was pleased to join me.
I asked her if she spoke anglais, but she shook her head. The suggestion of italiano merely inspired a look of confusion, deutsch outright dismay. So, we merely sat there in silent communion for a while, until an older woman began calling her from the other side of the pool.
"Non, non," she protested, looking over at me in mute appeal. But the woman, glaring at me as if my intentions involved anything but quietly minding my own business, stalked over and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away.
"Au revoir, mademoiselle," I called. She waved in return, her pretty face a mask of outrage and disappointment. I was not disappointed. I am, after all, a man well content with the woman with whom destiny has endowed me. And yet, I would not have been human had I not felt some regret at the departure of such a picturesque little blonde.
I will say, however, she was always a bit young for my tastes, being somewhere on the order of four decades my junior.