Sunday, January 01, 2006

A Stain in Spain

Some years ago. a Welsh friend of mine was visiting the Spanish resort of Majorca where one morning he met a young French girl, also on vacation. They hit it off immediately and spent the day together laughing, drinking and seeing the sites. Later, after a very filling, spicy Spanish meal...and lots of Sangria, the time seemed right and he invited her back to his hotel. Arm in arm, they strolled along the beachfront to the rear of the hotel where, as a shortcut, he decided to climb over a small fence at the rear of the property. Always a gentleman, he helped the young lady over first and then attempted a manly, one handed vault to join her on the other was at this point, in midair, that his bowels betrayed him. As if the loud sound (we've all heard the stepped on duck analogy) wasn't bad enough. The unmistakable feel of a growing stain in the rear of his white, linen pants, plus the look of horror on his ladyfriends face, told him the date (like the stain) was at an end.

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