Garlic and Olive Oil

Friends and acquaintances talk a lot about an older couple who love to party and invite people over every week-end to swim in their pool. They are much older than anyone else I know, beyond retirement age, and have lots and lots of belongings. They even have a camcorder!

"You should see their fridge!  It's taller than you!"

"They even have a clothes dryer!"

Imagine having a dryer! Nobody has a dryer. We all hang our clothes on a washing line outside to dry. This older couple is certainly the source of lots of gossip.

"I think she's had a face lift or something."

"He's really tall. Well over six feet."

My curiosity piqued, I therefore couldn't  help but accept their invitation to attend one of their pool parties. 

The wife greets me with a huge grin that practically splits her face in two.

"Hi!  So nice of you to visit us!"

I examine her face carefully, scrutinizing each line. Has she had a face lift? Hmm. That's what people say. She does look pretty good considering she's well into her sixties. Maybe I need to somehow look behind her ears. I heard that's where they cut you, pull your skin tight.

"Hi!" Her husband is indeed tall. He shakes both my hands at the same time as if we're about to dance. As tall as he is, his hands are really small. Gosh. So are his feet. He's barefooted and I'm expecting him to fall over, so tiny are his feet. How could such small feet support his tall body? I can't keep my eyes off of them.

"Don't be shy. Come on, let's go to the pool. Everybody is out there." 

They usher me outside. Abba's 'Thank You For the Music' is playing on a cassette recorder lying next to an ashtray full of Virginia Slims cigarette butts. I wonder who smokes Virginia Slims, and, more importantly, where they got them?

"Make sure to put lotion on your face. You don't want to get burned," warns the older woman.

People are pushing one another into the pool. Some haven't even changed into their swimsuits yet. They clamber out the pool, dripping wet, their clothes clinging to them, and shriek with laughter as they get ready to push someone else into the water. I just hope they don't pick on me. Not only am I a non-swimmer, I'm scared of the water. I make a beeline inside the back door of the house before anyone can grab me.

The older woman is standing in front of the famous dryer that I've heard about. It certainly is big. There's a pile of beach towels and wet clothes that she lifts carefully as she places them inside the dryer.

"Hi! Did your clothes get wet too? I can dry them." She beams at me.

"No. I came in here so that nobody pushes me into the pool." I look behind me to ensure there's nobody charging up ready to grab me.

"It's great having young people over. We enjoy their company so much.  They help us laugh."

"Do you have any children?"  I'm wondering why this older couple would be always having guests, most of whom are so much younger.

"Two sons whom we rarely see.  One lives in Thailand and the other lives in New Zealand.  What's the point in retiring and moving back home? That's why my husband is still working, why we're living in Spain." She shrugs her shoulders and turns to press the start button on the dryer.

I stand on my tiptoes to try and peek at the back of her ears to see if I can spy any scars that would signify she has had a face lift.

But, as if she senses what I'm up to, she turns round before I can see the back of her ears, and remarks, "I'm going to the States next month. Need to get more work done on my skin." 

"You look nice."  She does look nice, for her age, so I'm not making it up.

"Thanks, hon. You're a cute gal. Real sweet. Hey, could you take these shoes to my husband?" She points to a pair of shoes which are enormous and way far too big for her husband's small feet.

I pick them up, ready to be of assistance, and notice newspaper tucked tightly into the toes.  Surely he's not trying to make his feet look bigger by wearing these long shoes? I try not to laugh.

Between one getting work done on her  face and the other pretending to have longer feet, whatever next?! Or, am I just jumping to conclusions?

P.S.  I am jumping to conclusions! The older woman hasn't had plastic surgery, nor is she going to get it. She has skin cancer or possibly pre-skin cancer. Hence her concern that I use lotion in the sun. The shoes with the newspaper inside them don't belong to her husband. They belong to someone else who got soaked when people were being tossed into the pool. The newspaper is to help dry the shoes.  ha ha!

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Copyright Sandra Staas