Today the Season officially opens. Tourist season, that is. The people on the island hate the tourists, but after the Season of Scandals they're equally sick of one another. I can't repeat what this year's gossip is. One friend tells me that you can always tell if a woman on Block Island is having an affair because she loses weight and starts exercising.
My exercise consists of making beds. As I was running from one house to another with a Cosco-sized bale of toilet paper, I recollected one summer after my freshman year of college. I went to the coast of Maine and took a job as a chambermaid. But when I was supposed to show up for work the next day, I realized I just couldn't and hitchhiked outta there on the back of a motorcycle. I am making up for that dereliction of duty now in my current job. My visitors just informed me that they lack soap. Oops.
So there will be no more Islander scandals til next winter—everybody is too tired for sex. And, as Ed points out, all the places to have it are rented out.
4 comments:
If I were into sex -- and I am most decidedly not -- I'd say those shrubs look like a nice place to have it.
Kinda scratchy, though. . .
I thought your place was only occupied by you. King size bed looking out over the ocean.
I don't get it. They call it tourist season but we aren't allowed to shoot them. That ain't true for all the other seasons.
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