lovers missing link

I found this on my way to peace and tranquility.

It called me.

Beckoned.

Pleaded even.

I couldn’t walk on by.

Couldn’t smooch in the corner with others.

I had this.  It was happy and it was mine.

The picture seemed perfect, one would think.
All that was missing was me, one would think.

But I couldn’t stop there, no, that would be too easy for me.

I had to have more.

Needed more.

A drink, possibly.  This picture is missing a drink.

Right?

A frothy piña colada, perhaps.  Naaa, too cliché (don’t know why cliché became the anti-hero in this story, I was at an adult pool, in an all-inclusive resort, in Acapulco.  All that was missing was Isaac from The Love Boat.)

No, this was Mexico after all. Land of lime. Land of salt.  Land of chile.

They sprinkle that combo on EVERYTHING here:  plantain chips, potato chips, mango, cucumber- it doesn’t matter, really.  And I have become a certified addict.  So much so that I keep a stash of cacahuates japoneses enchilados in my desk drawer.   That’s Mexican code for puffed crunchy peanuts slathered in lime, salt, and chile.  Mine and only mine.

So we’re back to this idyllic scene missing me for a bit too long.  Husband gets up.  Looks around.  Hears the smooching nearby.  Feels neglected.  I have not bitten his bait, he concurs, feeling a tang of self-doubt (only a smidgen, as he is a fierce and proud hombre.)  Still, like any hombre, in need of constant coaxing. And come on, if this didn’t do it, what will?

His eyes soften as he catches sight of me.  Finally (for I was wondering where she was, his look betrays.)  And I am carrying the missing piece to this puzzle.  Two missing pieces actually.  In big, plastic tub-like containers.  They are hard to balance as they slosh with liquid.  No matter, if it spills, it will just wet my bikini, and bikini is going that route anyway, eventually.

Two Cheladas make their way to Husband’s happy place.  Cold Pilsen Mexican beer, mixed with fresh lime juice served in a super sized cup whose rim is dipped in lime juice with crunchy salt and if you are lucky, a sprinkling of chile, is the drink of choice.  The yin to this yang.  The moment made.

Courtesy larkesandjapes.com

He grabs his jumbo cup as I sit myself down in the crisp wading pool with beer in tow.  Smoochy couples quit their smooching and glance jealously at our idea.  Love don’t seem so self-nourishing now, huh, I smirk at them.

We clink our clunky plastics together.  Some beer spills into the pool.  The rest is for our belly, the view, and our eternal love.