I once knew a woman who was a citizen of Cyprus, but lived in Sudan.
She knew about Swahili, Oil painting, Hungarian men, and cosmetics.
She could dive and swim in the Mediterranean with the best of men.
However she couldn’t figure out how to get in my pickup truck.
She banged her head each time, then glared at me, even though I acted as if I didn’t notice.
She could dance all night in Madrid, but couldn’t decide whether to put her foot to the floor and swing her bottom over, or step on the rail, and drop it down in Portland town.
I thought she had a wonderful bottom to counter balance her entry, but lifting her leg seemed awkward to her even though, she claimed good form in her Honda car.
Since it seemed so hard for her to decide where to place her foot entering my pickup truck, I decided to end the dilemma before damage was done to my head, if I could not conceal my delight at her predicament.
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