The Tale of the Slippery Dress

In April, Jim and I stayed in a small community on the Gulf coast where golf carts outnumbered automobiles.
Families piled their groceries into the back, along with barefoot children, Grandma, and the family pet.
It was one of the most appealing aspects of visiting this small island.
Leaving the car behind and tooling around in a completely open vehicle is freeing. Without the heavy steel shield of a car both protecting and concealing us, we were more apt to have impromptu neighborly conversation with other folks.

My very own Mario Andretti didn’t mind zipping around in a cart that topped out at 10 mph. It was very relaxing for me. We didn’t break any speed limits getting around or antagonize any drivers that might feel compelled to drag race in a golf cart.

Our last night, I put on my new dress that I had bought in anticipation of our tropical vacation. It was a silky confection that reached my toes; boho and casual. We had a spectacular dinner at our favorite restaurant, The White Elephant, with the best Caesar Salad and fish fresh from the sea.

Heading back to our cottage, I was admiring the night sky, from our open air vehicle and breathing in the beautiful salt infused air, filled to the brim with life.

My sweet husband took one last turn near our cottage and like a siliconed slide, I slipped off the seat landing in the street.

Bruised, dazed but intact, I live to tell the tale.

My camera, sadly, did not.
I’m having trouble replacing it, I loved it so.

My husband and I have found a new intimacy.
When we ride together, I hold him tight.
If we’re in peril, we’re going together.

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