When I used to attend business conferences, I’d only pack one pair of formal shoes. In New York, I dressed for the morning session and discovered the heels of my shoes didn’t match. One was high, the other low.
As always, I’d cut things fine and there was no time to dash out and buy a new pair. Instead, I limped to the conference where I found myself seated next to a most charming and handsome gentleman from Denver, Colarado.
“We have something in common. We both have a limp,” he smiled.
Yay, I thought to myself. Instant bonding.
“My left leg is slightly longer than my right. And you?”
“The same,” I replied. We got on like a house on fire. Later, we limped our way to lunch together, and then dinner.
In France, while attempting to ski, I fell and broke my nose and two thumbs. “Quite an accomplishment,” said the doctor who patched me up. “But no matter, you’ll still be able to ski. And look at it this way, you’ll always have a clear run.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Look at you,” he responded with typical Gallic charm. So I looked in the mirror and almost passed out with fright. But he was right. People saw me coming and moved aside.
Travel is, as they say in the classics, delicious. I’ve eaten raw grubs in Uganda, sizzled locusts and mopane worms in Botswana, crocodile in Zimbabwe, snails in France, and pickled penis in Tunisia. I was told it had once belonged to a four-legged creature. Sliced paper thin, it was to die for, doll. Mmmmmmm, what a way to go!