“They’re
playing some music I can dance to,” Rich said. He sat his glass of
wine down. “I spoke with an attractive young lady a few minutes
ago; Fifi, Dee Dee, or Wee Wee. I think I will regale her with my
exploits at sea while I impress her with my mesmerizing dancing.”
Rich
danced one song with Fifi,
though attractive and pleasant, had a terrible underarm odor. He
thanked her and grabbed an olive from the snack table.
Claude
stood away from the crowd and watched the conversation and dancing.
Rich
walked up next to him. “Hello, Claude, we haven’t had much of a
chance to get acquainted.”
“That
is right,” Claude said.
“I’m
curious,” Rich said, “how many sheep do you have?”
“Why
do you want to know?” Claude said.
Annoyed,
Rich puckered his lips and wondered how to reply.
“Honestly,”
Rich said, “I don’t care if you have sheep or jackasses, I’m
just trying to be friendly and make conversation.”
“You
have not succeeded,” Claude said.
“How
so?” Rich said.
“I
have not told you how many sheep I have,” Claude said.
“But
I have succeeded in getting you to talk to me a little bit,” Rich
said.
Claude
walked away and asked Fifi
to dance. He was a clumsy dancer, stiff with no rhythm.
“The odor of sheep dip and armpits," Rich thought, "how romantic to a French sheepherder.”
