As I started to check-out and wonder which of the eight to ten guys she thought were rather gorgeous, I noticed one of them nudge another and then nod...in the direction of our back door. There she was. My fabulous, majestic wife. Strolling out with a tray of fruit and a chilled bottle of white wine. Thankfully, she WAS wearing a bikini top [albeit a very small white string affair] and she also had a floaty, white lace sarong tied around her hips. With her blonde hair and cool Victoria Beckham. She became his life’s love, knowing her intimately and admiring her beauty, calling her, Fiona. He had sailed everywhere the winds and waters took him and knew every nook and cove a village existed. In his sixty two years, he had come to know the tides and winds like they were his children and knew his crafts with great alacrity. This morning had found him getting his wares ready for sale. His morning’s catch of fish, gutted and strung, his loaves of bread and sacks of grains, and a satchel of. More

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