A Hot Tub, Two Girls, and a British Guy

He wouldn't have done it, no he wouldn't have, except for the voice that drifted into the exercise room where he, their father, was doing twenty minutes on the treadmill.  "Hello luvs," the voice said, instantly putting him on alert - especially since they were all staying at the Tulsa, Oklahoma Holiday Inn just off the Interstate.  What did this 'poser' think he was doing?  How  could he not know how bad his British accent was?  The father ran another tenth of a mile realizing that maybe this 'particular gent'leman' might think him unattached to the girls because his back was turned away and he was forty feet away from the room that contained the hot tub.  Yet, it didn't make him blind and deaf as to the nature of this intruder.  He wouldn't have been surprised if the voice concluded with a, "Good Afternoon governoresses!"

          He could picture his daughters both sitting closer together upon introduction to someone they would surely take as from across "the pond" as he was positive the flirter would say.  His daughters would dare each other through silent communication as to which one should make the introductions to 'Mr. Dickens' himself.  He had to put them out of their pain for what sort of father would he be if he didn't? 

          "Girls," he challenged from his treadmill perch, "Did you take your fungal medication yet?"

          His question was met with a silence that had a hundred pound anchor attached.

          "I don't want any complaining if the itching and swelling starts again!"

          This time he heard splashing as if the hot tub party was going to be minus a third in a moment.  He waited until he heard the towel snap and one of the girls (from where he was exercising he couldn't tell which one) groaned a little, "Bye."

          All of the above had been said as a father bird protecting his nest, but this he said for himself, "But with the fungal medication it will get better, I promise Mr....Bond - it will get better!"

Westerfield © 2008

          This story was based on a true incident, which although I wasn't there, was revealed to me pretty much in the same way I have written it.  I published it in April of last year.  The reason it sticks out in my mind was that I had gotten a new computer which included a new word processing program of which my brain, at the time heavily dosed up with chemo (thus that is what I'm using as my excuse) could not comprehend.  I remember the frustration I felt not even knowing how to copy and paste from the program.  None of the new word processing symbols made sense to me.  I actually printed out this story (which was another mystery until I figured it out after about four hours of contemplation) and wrote it again on Gather.

           I wish I could say that since that time I have figured everything out, but that would be a lie.  Granted I feel much better, yet I still don't know what button that I need to click on to highlight a whole document among other things.  I suppose by the time I do figure everything out I will then be in need of a new computer whose word processor will provoke tears from me based on confusion and the fear that I will never figure it out. 

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