Day Three: A Barracuda And A Smarmy Italian Both Want Lola

On Tuesday, I finally made it to St. John's and Trunk Bay. I was so excited. The beach was absolutely gorgeous. They have an underwater snorkeling trail that I couldn't wait to try out. "Sarah" and I immediately hit the trail. I saw so many fishies and beautiful plants that I felt like I was in another world. For an hour and a half I pretended I was a fish. On the other side of the rocks we saw people snorkeling outside of the buoys. We decided to be adventurous and go over there.

The water was so clear you could actually see where the drop off was to the "real" ocean. For a brief moment I felt a little icky. Almost as if something was out there watching me. "Sarah" saw the moment of panic on my face and started laughing. Bitch got salt water all up her nose. Swimming further out we saw a whole school of little bitty tiny fishes. All of sudden the tiny fishes scattered. I saw four huge barracudas and one seemed to be headed for me. Now listen, I'm an intelligent girl. Somewhere in my brain I knew the barracuda wouldn't really want to eat me. However in my little girlie heart I freaked out. Those teeth are scary. I got the fuck out of there.

After a pleasant drink or four on the beach I was calm. I lotioned myself up and prepared to bake myself to a golden crisp. This is where the second "attack" of the day took place. I hear, "Is that dot above your lip real or did you sketch it on?" I look up to see the hairest man I have ever seen. Now I don't mind hairy men all that much. My first boyfriend had a great hairy chest and The Boy was practically Chewbacca. OK maybe he wasn't Chewbacca but he was hairy. (Speaking of him, I heard from him this weekend but that's a story for another day.) I know some girls are icked out by chest hair but I'm really ok with it. I like to play with a little fur as I'm drifting off to sleep.

The hairy man asks again, "Is it real?" I reply, "No I drew it on especially for the beach." He says, "Ah you are an American and a feisty one at that." I said, "Uh huh" and gave him my best bitch look. "Where did you come from little feisty American?" I reply, "Bitchville, USA." The man still didn't get the hint. He thought I was being cute. It wasn't even that he was hairy or not cute. He was attractive and had a great accent. I just had no interest in meeting someone on vacation. I got his whole life story plus learned he would like to marry an American because they are so feisty. He really, really loved the word feisty. He talked about his boat. ALOT. He offered to buy us drinks several times. I said I didn't drink. He asked about the obvious empty glasses by my beach chair. I explained I had just that moment decided to quit. He still didn't get the idea. He asked me to dinner. I declined saying I couldn't very well just leave my women friends. He said he would love to take us all out and be surrounded by American women. My mother finally said, "Darlin', she's a lesbian ya know." He looked at her then at me then just walked off without another word. My mom then turned to me and said, "Honey you must be gettin' mellow in your old age. A few years ago you would have just looked at him and asked him to politely fuck off." She was right. Maybe there is a sweet side to Lola after all.