I was trying to be good.
No, really. I had every intention of behaving myself.
Travel with the wife engenders such restraint.
It wouldn’t last.
Things started out well, though. We held hands on our stroll up the Quinta’s fabled walkway, tracing a path well-trod for 100 years.
She smiled over her shoulder as I placed my hand at the small of her back, gently guiding her ahead as our hostess led us to our table, alfresco in a courtyard oozing with Old World charm. Soft cafe lights strung among the trees complemented the moon and stars; the whole scene, utter enchantment.
Then she happened along.
My good boy side didn’t stand a chance.
Two-three parts gin to one part grapefruit juice and one part ginger beer, Ginny is all kinds of refreshing… and dangerous, the alcohol neatly masked by her G&G friends.
Ginny is a tease; she’ll fool you into going too far with her… maybe even all the way!
My gentlemanly ways were soon gone, all talk and the tenor of the evening turning decidedly toward sin.
This was not a bad thing, considering where we were staying that night.
No kids, our last night in Aruba, and Ginny made for a dushi evening indeed…