So there I was diving into the deep sparkling waters of the Mediterranean. The sea was transparent, the weather perfect with that azure sky only the French Riviera can offer. I was swimming towards the palm lined, sun-soaked beach, carried in on the deep roll of the waves. The whole day lay ahead with the promise of a romantic evening on the yacht, and dinner with the captain. What more could any girl ask?
But what would I wear to dinner? And what about the captain? Why I hardly knew him. My mind was in a whirl as I dipped and dived among the waves.
Suddenly there was a roar.
“Ettie, what’s for dinner?
Well there you go. I was out of the Mediterranean and back in my dull, dining room, rain streaming down the French windows in one trillionth of a second. I was devastated.
Himself burst in the door, a grin on his face from ear to ear.
“I’m starving,” he said. ”Just wondering if you’ve thought about what you’re cooking for dinner yet?”
“No darling,” I said. “I was having dinner on board a yacht off Cannes tonight. I hadn’t thought about cooking for us.”
“Oh,” he said as he glanced down at my page. “So what’s this story about?” He gave one of his discontented sighs.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said truthfully, “you see I had just dived in.”