He was confused. “Then how did you get the boat?”
“Oh, simple,” replied the woman. ”I made the rowing boat out of raw material that I found on the island, the oars were whittled from gum tree branches, I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a eucalyptus tree.”
“But…but, that’s impossible,” stuttered the man, “you had no tools or hardware, how did you manage?”
“Oh, that was no problem,” replied the woman. ”On the south side of the island there is a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed. I found that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. I used that for tools, and used the tools to make the hardware. But, enough of that,” she said. “Where do you live?”
Sheepishly he confessed that he had been sleeping on the beach the whole time.
“Well, let’s row over to my place, then” she said. After a few minutes of rowing, she docked the boat at a small wharf. As the man looked onto shore he nearly fell out of the boat. Before him was a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman tied up the boat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man could only stare ahead, dumbstruck. As they walked into the house, she said casually, “It’s not much, but I call it home. Sit down please; would you like to have a drink?”
“No, no thank you” he said, still dazed, “can’t take any more coconut juice.”
“It’s not coconut juice,” the woman replied. “I have a ‘still’. How about a Pina Colada?”
Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted, and they sat down on her couch to talk. After they had exchanged their stories, the woman announced, “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the cabinet in the bathroom.”
No longer questioning anything, the man went into the bathroom. There in the cabinet was a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge were fastened on to its end inside of a swivel mechanism. “This woman is amazing,” he mused, “what next?”
When he returned, she greeted him wearing nothing but vines – strategically positioned – and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckoned for him to sit down next to her. “Tell me,” she began suggestively, slithering closer to him, “we’ve been out here for a very long time. You’ve been lonely. There’s something I’m sure you really feel like doing right now, something you’ve been longing for all these months? You know… ” She stared into his eyes.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ”You mean…?” he replied, “I can check my e-mail from here?”
From the archive:
My wife has been missing for a week now.
Police said to prepare for the worst, so I have been to the charity shop to get her clothes back.
I woke up last night to find the ghost of Gloria Gaynor standing at the foot of my bed.
At first I was afraid…I was petrified.
The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.
A priest was being honoured at his retirement dinner after twenty-five years in the parish. A leading local politician and member of the congregation was chosen to make the presentation and to give a little speech at the dinner. However, since the politician was delayed, the priest decided to say his own few words while they waited.
‘I got my first impression of the parish from the first confession I heard here. I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place. The very first person who entered my confessional told me he had stolen a television set and, when questioned by the police, was able to lie his way out of it. He had stolen money from his parents, embezzled from his employer, had an affair with his boss’s wife, taken illegal drugs and gave VD to his girlfriend. I was appalled. But as the days went on, I learned that my people were not all like that and I had, indeed, come to a fine parish full of good and loving people.’
Just as the priest finished his talk the politician arrived, full of apologies for being late. He immediately began to make the presentation.
‘I’ll never forget the first day our parish priest arrived,’ said the politician. ‘In fact, I had the honour of being the first person to go to him for confession.’