Conquering Vertigo

Nude bathers are on my beach

For those of you joining the story in progress, I'm a new bride who stepped down from the Texas church I helped pastor to marry a tall Italian and move with him to San Francisco.

Lots of transitions, lots of emotions, and a very happy new marriage. Who knew he had power tools and an entire case of drill bits? Had I known this, I would've married him sooner.

We live on the western-most coast of San Francisco, near the Golden Gate bridge, just above a beach in the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

I have taken ownership of this beach -- a sole proprietorship, not an S-Corp -- and although I rule the waves, it is a benign dictatorship and I am quite willing to share it with beachcombers, dogs and seals. Even the most accomodating monarch however (see Beatrix of the Netherlands) furrows a brow when the all-nude visigoths crash the party.

Saturday, my husband (Sir Ricky of Black & Decker) and I went for a hike up and down the hills and along the shore. When what to our wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh, and 8 tiny nude deer?

As we drew closer, and Richard verified that they were in fact naked and not just wearing pink wet suits (Anglo bathers), he pulled me away from them with a sudden decorous expression on his face. "They want their privacy," he murmurred.

Then why are they on my beach, one wonders?
Pre-marriage, I no doubt would have authored Richard's response, turning shyly away while saying things like, "Unmarried pastor, mustn't present the appearance of impropriety," etc.

Post-marriage to El Guapo, I'm taking a page from David Niven's amused query, "Why do some people insist on displaying their short-comings?"

posted by Woman In Love @ 12:13 PM