Recently, my LSW (long-suffering wife) and I spent four days visiting her sister and brother-in-law at a state park in eastern North Carolina. In an RV. This was no skanky RV, dear reader. It had an upstairs, a downstairs, and a basement. Suffice it to say, we did not suffer. In addition, one afternoon there was free entertainment at the campsite across the road from us. A young woman was laying out food and utensils on a picnic table, obviously preparing lunch for her husband and child. She was a redhead. She wore a summer shift. Everything was pleasant and peaceful, and then a bug went down her back, inside the confines of the shift.
What followed was a wildly-gyrating interpretive dance that had to be seen to be believed. In an attempt to dislodge the insect, this lady engaged a variety of moves that would have made Michael Jackson appear to be a catatonic. It was either a fertility dance or an ode to Satan, but in either case, it was energetic enough to free her from the intruder that had slipped inside her shift. Mission accomplished, undeterred, she continued with her work at the picnic table.
I finished my chilled glass of domestic chablis, entertained random thoughts of youth and energy, and nodded off into the comfort of a nice nap.