A Lorry Story
Once, I asked a physician for a shot in my fanny. (I was trying to be polite.) A "fanny" is a vagina in England. The good doctor and I sorted that one out privately. Point is, to stick around England for any length of time, I had to learn English. And I did.
I learned not to ask for Bandaids or Kleenex, but plasters and tissues. A motorway does make more sense than a parkway and bloody is good. Or bad. You decide.
I stuck around for years. My favorite port to sail from is Falmouth, in Cornwall. There's yet another "English" to learn in Cornwall and the best breakfast I ever had in my life at Trevaylor Inn, but that's another story. The quaint shops, the scent of the sea, some clotted creme and pasties, kept me entranced for hours while our ship was in port. I love it there. Feels like Shakespeare once walked there when no one anywhere was named "Lori".
So imagine me climbing the quaint cobblestone street that Shakespeare very well may have clambered when I heard "Lori" hollered out. I turned, but remembered where I was and knew I'd imagined that. Kept walking. The voice got louder and closer --- "Lori!" Ernesto came running across the street. Gorgeous Ernesto. A crewmate. The best smelling crewmember onboard. I don't know what scent Ernesto wore, but he's inhaled to memory, and I can still smell him. Any time I'd see him on the ship, we'd hug. Ernesto hugged everyone all day. He hugged his way around every ship.
I once saw him in Spain, hugging his way around the Malaga coastline after siesta. Smells are primal. Ernesto's ancestors may have invented that.
Anyway, we laughed to see each other. Imagine that. I could be twenty years in Atlanta without running into someone, but in Cornwall, I got called out in the street. I saw heads swivel because Ernesto hollered "Lorry" in their minds. I sniffed his neck, we chatted and hugged goodbye --- OK, it was really a bottomless breathe-in, but I wanted to buy a bra at Marks & Spencer so I could linger in their dressing room with the window that overlooks the ocean and see the saleslady who calls everyone "Love."
There was a lorry coming from the hill, so we waved goodbye. People were looking at me step across in my swishy dress. It wouldn't be a good idea for this Lori to be mashed in Falmouth by another lorry. I mean, how would they write that? They'd need another English... I was gobsmacked. But Ernesto smells soooooo good.
And I'm not a truck.
Just Another Lori LORRY Story
