Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Winter Getaway: postcard from Dee

well, brrrr
it's colder than a witch's tit
in a brass bra
as pa would say

but someone's gots to gets the mail

well look-ee here
i gots something

lemme gets inside
and put on the
kettle before we reads this

oopsie, looks like i have me neighbor's mail mixed in my lot

shore is a purty picture postcard...

TO: Velvet
FR: Julie

~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~
by Dee DeTarsio
~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~

Postcard greeting from Julie Fraser, star of The Scent of Jade, who’s lost in the Costa Rican jungle...

Dear Velvet,

Did you know it’s impossible to frown when the sun is in your eyes? I gave it my best shot. Tears were streaming down my face, not because I’m a crybaby, (though we both know I am) but because my fancy-schmancy mineral makeup was melting kosher salt-sized boulders of misery, that blinking only made worse.

Through the ecru matte-finish drizzle dripping from my eyelashes, I could make out a bamboo hut, dead ahead. I stepped underneath the fringe of palm fronds into a welcoming waft of shadows. A young woman sat behind a bar, as music played in the background. I could have kissed her! My sunburnt face cracked a smile, as I called out my one and only Spanish word: “Hola!”

She hopped off her stool, swishing her long brown hair and shot off what sounded like a staccato of accusations. Bubbles oozed through the dried sweat stains on my arms; I felt as deep fried as a glazed Krispy Kreme. I took a breath, wishing I was sipping on gin and juice. Coconut rum and pineapple slices so yellow I knew they would crunch like cartoon food, danced in my sinuses; an atomizer of ocean spray spritzed my hair. I was in hell, in paradise.

“I’m lost,” I told her.

She flung up her hands and shook her head. My “Do you have a phone?” earned shoulder shrugs and more hh-llatina hh-lingo that would come in handy if one had a chest cold.

She was wearing a turquoise bikini top (and wearing it well, I might add) with jean shorty shorts that I couldn’t even pull off when I was four years old.

The time for a meltdown had set sail with a cargo full of my tears. If I had a nickel for every grain of sand in my stilettos I would have swapped them for an English translation app faster than you could say whipped cream. We might as well have been from different planets. I bowed my head.

The music got louder. I saw her throw her arms up in the air and begin to hula.

“California girls, we’re unforgettable!” She sang along, nodding at me.

“Daisy dukes, bikinis on top?” I answered.

She clapped her hands and shook what appeared to be her groove thang.

“Sun-kissed skin so hot we’ll melt your Popsicle,” I joined in, our voices crystal clear in a harmony we made our own. Next thing I knew, she was beside me and we rode imaginary ponies, spanked ourselves and spun around in complete synchronicity. You’d have thought we were on Glee.

“Oh Oh Oh Oh Ohhhhhhh!”

Wish you were here... and hope sex...on the beach is stuck in your head for the rest of the day!



Postcard created and image for postcard provided for Winter Getaway by Dee DeTarsio
© 2011. All rights reserved.

~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~
by Dee DeTarsio
~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~

Meet Julie in this story...

--/=/=-- eBook Giveaway courtesy of author --=\=\=-

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* image source mailbox

~~* Winter Getaway schedule *~~

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