End of Conversation

Okay, I’m in one of my pre-trip displacement writing jags. If you’re also looking for a way to burn the clock, read on. At the presentation (prior posting) a woman in the audience appeared to be inspecting me, for lack of a better term. I would describe her as attractive but what stood out was that no expense was spared on clothing, jewelry and cosmetics. Given her scrutiny, it came as little surprise when she approached me after the conclusion of the talk. “I couldn’t help but notice your shirt.” “My shirt?” The master of scintillating repartee. “Yes, the British Virgin Islands.” “Oh, that. I was there a few months ago.” “I had a chateau on Tortola. In the evenings, I loved to dine on the veranda (may be the first person I’ve met who had a veranda) after a long day on the yacht. Few things can compare to broiled lobster, an elegant chardonnay and a brilliant Caribbean sunset.” “I kayaked from scruffy little island to scruffy little island, shared the beach with a herd of hermit crabs and swilled local rum.” End of conversation.