Velociworld

Les Barked Knees

I didn't tell you what happened to The Bride upon our arrival in St. Maarten, did I? Well! She proceeded, as we were progressing to Immigration, to trip upon herself, her luggage, and so lay waste to her kneecaps. In a word or two, they were bloody, skinned, denuded. They were ugly. They looked, I must tell you, like a most egregious case of rugburn of the knees.

I must confess I forgot about the poor girl's malady until I started receiving some very attentive work from the French waitstaff. Now, I'll confess to being no fucking Lothario this trip, being content to rub my belly and exclaim "Ain't it grand?!?" ever so often, but those Frenchies thought I was obviously a sexual daemon.

The waiters would deliver my wine with a sly whispered "Les rotules, extraordinaire!". The females would put a little extra "Voila!" in my "Voila!".

Hey. I took whippings when I didn't deserve them. I'll certainly take credit for a damned case extraordinare of the rugburn of the knee. Why, I was the cock of the walk to them folks.