Long, long, ago, before I was a parent, then a grandparent, in a galaxy far, far away, where time and energy represented infinite quantities, I vaguely remember being a people. Yes, as I recall, people really are capable of spontaneous, glorious, heat-of-the-moment sexual encounters, day and night; when they're not juggling kids, housework, meals, and gainful employment.
So why do they call them ‘Ladies of the Night?’
I bet wise owl Vivian would know.
And how was I to know the ladies were still working Amsterdam’s famous Red Light District at ten in the morning? Red Light Districts are not exactly my forte.
Of course, it’s not like we hadn’t been warned.
“No photographs allowed in the Red Light District; or risk finding you and/or your camera at the bottom of the canal!”
I didn’t see any red lights. Did red doors count?
OMG! She must have been an opera singer in a former life.
And we all know how most operas end; tragically.
Alas, I was once a runner, long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (yes, the same galaxy that revolved around spontaneous, glorious, heat-of-the-moment sexual encounters between two people).
We’re talking a new course-record run.
We’d scattered like free range chickens running from the chopping block, then laughed at the insanity of it all once we’d ditched the damsel in distress, sans dunking. Wish I had pictures to share of that crazy moment!
We’d been lost, and now we were found. Alleluia.
Vivian would be so proud.