ALMOST A BRIDE (Open On Annie)

3

The phone call came at 5:23 AM.

I was fast asleep, dreaming happily about the holiday I was about to go to in a few hours, when it assaulted my eardrums. A few months ago I’d changed my ring tone to that song, “I hate you,” by Kellis, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but now- barely at the crack of dawn- it just gave me a blinding headache.

 “I hate you so much right now… I hate you so much right now, I hate you so much right now. AAHHHHH!”

 I scrambled quickly for the phone to shut off the offensive noise.

“Hello!”

“Hey hun,” It was my sister, “We’re at the ER with Sophie, I think she’s picked up a stomach bug,” I could hear in Jenny’s voice that she’d been up all night.

Now I was awake, and worried. “Oh my God, is she okay?”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. Just a stomach thing, the doctors says it should be over in about 48 hours, but that means we won’t be able to travel with you today!’

“What? You’re not coming?”

“No, we’re coming, we just have to move our flight out by a few days. I’m not getting on a plane with a pooping, hurling baby. Those airplane toilets are so small, and trust me, with what’s coming out of her, it will be all over the-“

“OK, stop. I get the picture.” A side note about new moms, why do they have to give you a running commentary about their child’s bowel movements? Inevitably all conversations lead back to pooh; frequency, texture, color. I felt nauseous just thinking about it.

“So I’m going on holiday by myself? Jen, do you know how pathetic and “broken hearted ex girlfriend” that looks?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice, which made me feel terribly selfish, as my misery was nothing compared to my poor niece’s right now.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have fun! Imagine, three whole days by yourself. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find some hot scuba instructor?”

“Doubtful-“

Jenny cut me off, “Okay, the doctor’s here. Enjoy your flight; see you in a few days. Love ya.”

And then she was gone.

I’d been so excited about this trip, but the idea of going alone- even if it was only for a few days-was horrifying. I was self-conscious enough as it was, without people pointing and staring at me like the last, lonely Rhino in the zoo. Besides, who would put sun cream on my back?

For a moment I contemplated pushing my flight out too, but then I looked out the widow and saw the sight I dreaded most.

Perhaps I should have mentioned earlier that Gunter is very ‘open’ with his body, maybe it was a German thing, maybe it was because he'd been a nudist in the seventies? But whatever the reason, in my humble opinion, no sixty five year old man should clean his pool- bending over often I might ad- in a tiny, black Speedo.

Gunter had orange leather like skin and his bum hung like a flap of lose skin somewhere around the back of his knees. And when he moved, the whole thing seemed to swing from side to side. Gunter is also a hairy man, and I’m not just talking about his chest. It always looks like he’s smuggling a very fluffy Maltese poodle in his speedo.

“Hi Annie”, he waved at me, exposing the Santa beard he had tucked away under his armpit.  

“Hi Gunter.” I smiled politely, and waved back deciding that I should go to Mauritius that morning. It was summer holidays here after all, and the pool would probably need regular cleaning.