While Strollilng Through the Park...

WC 847

While Strolling Through the Park One Day

By Jack Rawlins

I was sauntering through Cooper's Mill Park one sunny morn in June minding my own business (which is easy when you have none) when I chanced upon a lovely lady sprawled on a picnic table. Immediately I noticed something different about her, though I couldn't put my hand on it. Then I realized she was completely naked! At the same time, I noted she had a lovely tan.

“How now, brown Frau?” I greeted her politely as I dipped my cap and moved closer.

“Why, quite well, dear Sir, “ she responded with equal formality as she flung her legs to one side and sat up with her feet on the table's bench. “And thank you for noticing my tan. I've been working on it for weeks.”

“Well you've done a splendid job,” I said. “ I don't see a bare spot on your body. That is ...I don't see a bare spot on your bare body. No, no. I mean even though you are out of uniform, your tan is quite uniform.'”

“Thank you for the compliment. Tanning is important to me and I want it to be just right. I abhor blotchy tans, don't you?”

“Oh, indeed, indeed, “ I agreed as I shifted my gaze to focus on the top of her head lest she think me too interested in her physiology rather than her tanning philosophy. “Blotches should be avoided, or you might be mistaken for that famous pinto pony who once lived by the Alamo.”

“Oh, dear, you are a wit. Or perhaps a twit. I don't know you well enough to decide. Can you help me?”

“Help you what?” I asked.

“Help me decide if you are a wit, or a twit.”

“If it's important to you, I'll try. I have never fancied myself as a wit, perhaps because I am so often at my wit's end. On the other hand, I don't think I would qualify as a twit. Why would you think I might be a twit?”

“Well you keep looking at the top of my head, rather than my body. You make me feel self conscious . It's as though you're afraid you might find an imperfection that you dislike,” she said sadly..

“Well, to tell the truth, brown Frau, it's not often I am fortunate enough to meet a lovely tanning aficionado –especially in the buff . Her buff that is, not mine, on a bright sunny day, “ ( I know I babbled, straining to be cool and clever.)

“Would you care to join me?” she asked.

Now, with her invitation I immediately took the warning labels on my medications seriously. I never read them, but I know pills can make you do dumb things—like escape from reality, for example. And at the moment I'm thinking, this is not real. I am having a wishful-thinking hallucination.

Can it be? I ask myself. This pretty stranger in the park wants me to drop my drawers and catch a few rays with her? What would my mother think? Thank goodness I'm wearing clean underwear. Yet, I'm fearful.

“Yes, I'd love to, “ I answered after a long thoughtful pause. “But I'm afraid the Park Ranger might find a bare couple on one of his picnic tables violates a park rule of some kind.”

“Oh, fiddle dee dee. Who cares? Come on. Take off your clothes and join me.”

“Well, “ I answered, “this isn't what I had in mind when I left the house this morning. On the other hand, I don't want to insult you by not accepting your kind invitation. But just for my records; What's your name?”

“Folks at the Institute call me Sans. You know, like 'without?' “

“What Institute might that be?”

“Oh, you know. The big one by the Park entrance. The Institute for wackos.”

“You work there?”

“No. I'm a wacko.”

“Oh,my! But you seem so bright and articulate—and, almost normal, too me.”

“Well, I'm all that. But see those two gentlemen in the baggy blue hospital outfits who just stepped out of that van over there?” she said pointing toward a parking area. “They don't think so.”

“Oh, my, “ I said, again. “They're coming for you, right?”

“Oh, you are so perceptive!” she chuckled. “Double fiddle dee dee!" she added.” I'll never get a perfect tan if they don't stop interrupting and hauling me back.”

“How did you get away?” I asked.

“Oh, it's easy. I think they like to find me this way so they look the other way when I wander off.”

“Well, good luck, Sans,” was the best clever closing comment I could muster as her captures closed in.

“Oh, well, Mr. Twit, or whatever,” she said with a seductive smile.” It might have been a pleasure meeting you if you had moved a little faster.”

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