Gringo

Now, I’m a man that likes to blend in.  Never one to draw attention to myself. ‘Chameleon-like’ some might say.  A master of disguise.  I daresay my ability to be inconspicuous is legendary in certain quarters.  How else could you explain those years of hiding in that Negro gospel choir?

Duly warned by our ‘guides’ and ever mindful of our personal safety, I led our intrepid family on to the beach today, secure in the knowledge that with my sunburn and safari hat, I would be indistinguishable from a lifelong resident of the city.  Or a hobbo. 

I’ve never lived anywhere near the coast so any sight of the sea is a thrill.  I suspect there’s a bit of the Old Sea Dog in me.  At least that would explain the effect I have on German Shepherds.  I can’t stop myself from dabbling in the water whenever I’m close enough.  There’s something quite magical about all that lapping around the water’s edge.  And that has nothing to do with those amorous Alsatians.  Today was one of those shoreline times.

Ah, the simple joy of paddling.  I had gone to a depth that I considered appropriately cool and sophisticated for the location: the waves gently splashing below the knee; a comfortable couple of inches below my rolled up trouser legs.  Ah, what a vision of elegance, I must have been.

It lasted some twelve seconds.  Within moments of taking my regal stand I was utterly soaked by a freak wave.  I raised myself with the decorum expected of an Englishman abroad.  I coughed.  I spluttered.  I cursed. I cleared my eyes of stinging brine by rubbing them with SPF120 lotion-covered hands rendering myself temporarily blind. I launched myself with reckless abandon into the surf to retrieve my wayward hat as it threaten to float away.  I scrabbled wildly for some means of support but the water proved ill-suited as a prop.  I slapped at it uselessly as I struggled to my feet.  I gulped for air.

A second wave knocked me back on my arse.

Thankfully, the saltwater-sun cream-cheap canvas combination created a chemical bond that secured my hat to my head.  That baby wasn’t going anywhere this time.   I spat a fountain back at the ocean.

As I sat pathetically in the receding waters, I felt three or four tiny pairs of hands grab my arms.  The owners, a clutch of small boys, were laughing uncontrollably. 

‘Gringo!  Gringo!  Gringo!’  they squealed between hoots.

“Gringo”? But how could they tell?  What powers of perception!  It was uncanny.  I tried to ask “How?” but the giggling had rendered them incoherent. All they could say was  ‘Funny man.  Do again.  Do again.’

Comments

[LondonGirl]

Brilliant.

You made me absolutely laugh out loud.

[Carlton]

You're not a small Brazilian boy are you, LondonGirl?! ;) c