"You know how best to learn French?" he (the local car mechanic)offered with a smile.
"No, how?" I was all ears. Maybe there was a solution.
"Get a French girlfriend."
I laughed and told him, "I'd have to check with my wife on that one."
I was completely entranced in the ecstasy of my surroundings. I was lying on one of the most beautiful French Caribbean beaches imaginable, next to my amazingly gorgeous wife. She was tan and topless, her black top dangling over the edges of her lounger. The swaying palm trees that surrounded us provided a gentle shade that worked in perfect harmony with the ocean breeze that gently stirred the tropical air.
I dreamed of moving to a foreign island and submersing myself into the lifestyle of island natives who spoke a language I didn't understand. For income, I planned on opening a business that I'd never competed in, in a country with laws I was unfamiliar with. Most people would have called my dream a midlife crisis, a foolish risk, a fanciful folly, or some other term to symbolize its craziness. Is there a doctor in the house?
It was great to shed the winter coats and boots that we had donned back home so early in the season. The upper Midwest's dreary brown earth tones splotched with dirty snow couldn't compare to the green tropical beauty and swaying palm trees of our Caribbean destination. Equally enticing, clear, turquoise-blue waters glimmered like sapphire in the sunlight.
When we're back home (to visit family) and we tell people we're on vacation, they ask from where? They always laugh, wondering why someone from the Caribbean would vacation in Minnesota.
A local islander turned to Cyndi and proclaimed, "I like this one, and I want to buy a bottle of this perfume for my girlfriend."
Cyndi smiled, and, trying to be helpful offered another suggestion. "If you'd rather purchase a gift certificate, your girlfriend could come in here and pick out the perfume she likes best."
"No, I like this perfume. If my girlfriend doesn't like it," he laughed, "I give it to my wife." Cyndi blushed.
Elizabeth, a cute, petite, fifth grader participated in the class with her mother while proclaiming her intent of creating a "stinky" perfume. I asked why?
"There's this boy in my school who I think is going to ask me to a dance, and I don't want to go, so I want to create a stinky perfume," she replied with a devilish smile.