#Granted I blame the line of George saying “you wouldn’t know French” and like one character in the dub uses French 💀

[no1ryomafan]

Need to get back on the grind today and watch G Gundam but watching this show makes me think about one thing I’ve been overthinking a lot in anime where we have a story that either has characters from multiple countries, not just Japan OR we explicitly do have a story that ISN’T in Japan which leads to the conclusion of “there’s no way everyone is actually speaking Japanese here” and this shit always rattles my fucking brain despite the fact I’m watching this dubbed.

[jjaywmac]

Chapter 2

Saturday came and promptly at noon, the BMW pulled into my driveway.  She stepped out of the car wearing cut-offs, a tank top and most importantly, flats.  I’m six-foot one and she had just leveled the playing field.

“Welcome, but you should have brought a bathing suit.”

“Honey, this is the Sun Coast – there is one under my clothes, another one in the glove compartment, and an emergency back-up in the trunk.”

We walked through the front door and into what Floridians call the great room.  Which translates as “no walls.”

“Well, I see you’ve done the whole place in early bachelor.”

“Yes, it does cry out for a woman’s touch.”

Would you like the job?  Full time?  She looked around and then noticed the sidewall.

“I always say that no Florida home is complete without a portrait of an aircraft carrier – the army-navy surplus store?”

“CVN-72, the USS Abraham Lincoln.  My brother is a carrier pilot and that’s his ship.”

“So how come a good looking, well-off guy like you hasn’t been roped, tagged, and branded?”

“Well, since you asked.  You are a Baseball fan.  Do you know the name George Brett?”

“Sure.”

“George had a brother named Ken, a really good guy known to everyone as ‘Kemer’, and his philosophy became my philosophy.  A baseball player has a lot of opportunities – see also temptations and it seems crazy to get married and then spend half the year being unfaithful, so, don’t get hitched until after you retire.  If you are single you can do anything you want.  You can two-time, three-time or even four-time.  Once you put the ring on, everything changes, no more straying, no foolin’ around.  Kemer is gone now, but his philosophy is alive and well and living in me.  Do I believe in marriage?  Absolutely.  My parents had a fabulous marriage.  That’s my story.  Now what about you?  How is it that a mouth-watering redhead is not bedding down in some oil baron’s ranch house?”

“I’ve had my chances.  I went with a guy through college and it looked like we were headed toward the altar until one day he broke it off.  He told me that he wanted more.  And that ‘he couldn’t be what I wanted him to be.’  Whatever that means.  Combined with the ever popular ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’  And, of course, like so many women, I immediately blamed myself, wondering what’s wrong with me.  In time, it was replaced by a brisk screw him, and I threw myself into my career.”

“More?  Are you kidding?  You are beautiful, sexy, smart, funny, and have legs for days.  What else is there?”

With a smile that could break your heart she replied,

“He didn’t say, he just left.”

Thus making him the dumbest man who has ever lived.

“You are a sweetheart, but enough with the bargain basement flattery, I’m hungry and you promised me lunch.”

Note to self: NEVER leave this girl waiting.

“So, padna, as we say in Texas, let’s mosey over to the chuck wagon.  Do I get to drive the Lotus?”

“Not today.  I think we’ll go with an alternative form of transportation.”

Those legs followed me into the backyard past the pool, down to the dock and my 15-foot boat.  No surprise, it’s a Boston Whaler.

“Where are we going?”

“As promised, Phillippi Creek, via the scenic route.  I’ll drive and you lie gracefully across the front cushions.”

“Lie gracefully?  Really?  Is this lunch or just a clever ruse to get me into my bikini?”

What I lack in intelligence, I make up for in cunning.

“OK, Lefty, your boat, your rules.”

In a flash, the cut-offs and tank top were gone.  I nearly fell out of the boat.  From stem to stern, seventy-two inches of goddess in a black bikini and the legs were only the start.  Some girls are fun; this girl is an amusement park – Marciaworld.  Believe me when I tell you, Disneyland is so not the happiest place on earth.  I almost felt sorry for the guy who passed up the chance to marry her.  Almost.  Wherever you are today, buddy, thank you.

“Why do I think I’m not the first woman you’ve gotten in this boat?  I’ll bet if I look hard enough, I’ll find a thong around here.”

“You are too late, I cleaned out the thongs last week along with all the bras, the garter belts and stilettos.  Right now, I’m only thinking about the present woman in this boat, not the ones who have gone before.”

“Did they teach you that line of bull shit at Boston College or did you learn it in the National League?”

There have been other women, lots of other women, but nothing like this.  Something tells me I am going to have to bring my “A” game to this party.

“Never mind where, when or how I learned it.  The operative question is, ‘is it working?’”

“I’ve heard worse.  Heck, I’ve gone home with worse, which I guess bodes pretty well for you.”

I just smiled – of course by now even my hair was getting hard.  By the way, on top of everything else, she does graceful very well.  Don’t take my word for it, just ask the men on every boat we’re passing.  All of us lost in a reverie.

“Hey, Lefty, someone is hungry up here.  Will this thing go any faster?  I’ve been on quicker cattle drives.  No wonder they call this bucket a whale boat.”

End of reverie.

Thankfully, we are a minute away from the dock at the Phillippi Creek Village Restaurant & Oyster Bar.  As usual on Saturday afternoon, the joint is jumping but we somehow manage to find an open slip and then flimflam our way into a table by the window.  The Oysters in question are Apalachicolas.  Found only on the Florida panhandle and prized by shellfish aficionados as some of the best in the world.  The server arrives…

“And what can I get for the lady?”

“Two dozen oysters.”

Lunch is off and running.  I wouldn’t eat those slimy buggers with a gun to my head, so I counter with a half-pound of shrimp and follow that with another half-pound.  She hoovers the oysters and then goes for the crab cakes and cold slaw.  What we have here is a girl with either a Texas-size appetite, or the metabolism of a hummingbird.

“Is it too early in a second date to discuss a third date?”

With a voice that Mae West would have been proud of,

“What do you have in mind, big boy?”

Very good, too bad my Cary Grant is lousy.

“Ever had dinner at the White House?”

“Not since George and Laura moved out.”

When will I learn?  She’s too quick for me.

“White House?  Do you mean Maison Blanche?”

“Yes.  The French place on Longboat Key, the number-one rated restaurant in town.  Saturday night, I can make a reservation for eight and pick you up at 7:30.”

“Lucky for you, I’m dying to try it…you’re on.”

As we walk down the dock to leave, she reaches over and grabs the key out of my hand, jumps in and sits down behind the wheel of the whaleboat.

“Get in.”

“Can you drive this thing?”

“Let’s find out.”

I untie the line and step over the gunwale as she jams the throttle forward.  Now with one foot on the deck and the other on the dock, the whaler takes off.  I am lucky enough to fall into the boat rather than the water.

“Let’s see what this baby can do.”

“Great, I’ll just sit here and watch for the Coast Guard.”

In a flash, we are under the bridge and doing ‘S’ turns across Robert’s Bay, all of this way above the speed limit.  I ordered the whaler with the upgraded engines in case someone wanted to do a little water skiing.  Oh, was I regretting that decision.

“We who are about to die salute you.”

Her heavy hand on the throttle gets us down the Intracoastal, through Sarasota Bay, and into the canal in a heartbeat.  Skillfully, she pulls the engines back to idle and floats the whaler right to the dock.  I have been sandbagged.

After extending my hand and helping her out, I explained,

“I usually charge gorgeous redheads for driving my boat.”

“Really?  What is the going rate?”

“This.”

I take her in my arms, pull her close, and plant one on those pouty lips.  She gives just as good as she gets.  This is a girl who has been kissed before.  The golden moment is broken when she starts to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking, what is the charge for driving the Lotus?”

I turned away and begin peering into the whaler.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you’ve left a thong.”

    BURDEN OF PROOF “Round Two” Chapter 2 Saturday came and promptly at noon, the BMW pulled into my driveway.  She stepped out of the car wearing cut-offs, a tank top and most importantly, flats.