(Yes, yes, yes, I know the jottings series has long been overdue. This is for all those who kept asking me when the next would be out).
You there, you with your stick thin body, and miniscule beach wear. Kindly take your skinniness elsewhere and out of my face, or I will hex you with a monster wave that keeps dunking you headfirst into the sand everytime you get into the water. And hex you additionally with the curse of the orange peel skin that refuses to go back to wherever it came from if you insist on wandering around flaunting your zero body fat percentage thighs at me.
Dear Mr Indian Male Tourist. Kindly tuck your tongue back in your mouth as you wander around checking them tourists in their itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikinis soaking up the sun on their deckchairs. And keep a towel handy to mop the drool. A stick to prop your jaw back into place would come in handy too.
Gigantic lady in the thong bikini. Ye of the burnt pink flesh in mounds so huge you could have your own zipcode. Ouch ouch ouch. You could have warned us. I would have pulled on my sunglasses to shade my eyes from so much pinkness. But, all said and done, I bow to your absolute lack of self consciousness. There is a lesson I must learn from you, if only I could get past wondering what it is and what it has to do with me hiding beneath tent like kurtis.
Ye lady with orange sarong, orange bikini, orange hairscrunchy and orange beach bag. Really. Really. Have you no mercy on us uncoordinated types who just pull on whatever fits and buttons up without threatening to burst and is handy when one is leaving the hotel room. Find a chair far far away from me. I refused to be cowed down by your perfection.
Disapproving lady at the next table. Yes it is alcohol I am consuming. Trust me I am not about to start dancing on the tables. At the max I will crash out into deep sleep, and snore in most unappealing manner. Your menfolk are safe. Plus the husband has pectorals which have been known to dislocate a jaw bone at a single swing, so I am safe from them too.
Anymore dancing from you behind my table and I’m going to throw marbles on the floor. Let a girl sleep her lunch off in peace, will ya.
Yes, my son will inspect the contents of your plate. No, he is not asking to be fed. That I will do, thank you very much. Do not look at me witheringly for eating the kitchen up and starving the child. He will eat in his own sweet time.
And finally, no I dont want a tattoo, a massage or beads. Just keep the fish peri peri coming.