Cub – Words for the Weary

In a display of supreme stupidity, the group of bankers moved downhill towards the lioness and her cub to get better photographs. Predictably, the lioness charged.

My friend, who was leading the bodyguard detail for the bankers, described what happened next as “a cartoon”. Feet slipped, arms flailed, and the bankers fell all over each other in a desperate attempt to scramble back up the hill to the safety of the lodge. The lioness streaked towards them, roaring in anger.

With no good option, my friend ran downhill past the flailing tangle of bankers to meet her. He reached for the concealed pistol in his shoulder holster. His only choice was to kill the lioness before she killed his clients. This was a great pity, because she was clearly faultless and they were clearly fools.

However, having seen off the threat to her cub the lioness stopped, then retreated. My friend, standing alone and relieved, removed his hand from the still concealed gun. He turned to climb back up the hill.

He was met by thunderous applause. The bankers, now safely back at the lodge, still had no idea that my friend was armed. They believed he had charged the lion in an act of selfless bravery. All afternoon they bought beers for the conquering hero and recounted their mutual adventure. No doubt the tale grew in the telling, and with the drinking.

One by one the bankers wobbled off to bed. My friend sat alone on the lodge verandah, savoring the events of the day and the cool African night. A hippo wandered by grazing on the grass. So wild and yet so close, like the lioness herself.

Then the hippo pooped all over him. Hippos use their paddle-shaped tails to spray stool around like a firehose. My friend found himself sitting in just such a hippo car wash. When he finally got up from the chair there was the outline of his body, like a chalk drawing at a murder scene, surrounded by hippo poop.

He went into the parking lot, stripped, and threw his uniform in a garbage bag, never to be worn again.

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]

I am a bear in a world of lonely cubs. That’s the only way to explain the frequency with which I am propositioned by other men.

It happens everywhere. Last month it was from a guy sitting at the table next to me in a restaurant in Brussels. For the record, he was six foot four and full of muscles. I was merely full of mussels. It happened in the workplace, where a male colleague made a pass during a pick-up volleyball game at a staff party. He could not possibly have been attracted to my volleyball skills. It once happened on a beach. And lets just be honest: you have to be pretty damn desperate to proposition me while I am in a bathing suit in full daylight. Or visually impaired.

It happened in an airport security line. I had just finished telling a female colleague about my being approached by other men. She rightly scoffed. Moments later, as if scripted, the man in front of me turned and asked if he could borrow the toothpaste I was putting into the little plastic security bag. Taken aback by the odd request, I handed him the crumpled tube. He thanked me, winked, and then slapped my butt. My colleague stood there stunned. I told the man to keep the toothpaste.

Having my wife with me makes no difference. She and I were once holding hands in a café booth. The waiter lingered around us with the same intensity that I have around warm lasagna. We ignored him. Then he came back with a huge chocolate cookie and sat down in the booth beside me. “You have to try this”, he said. “Its better than sex”. My wife can attest that this actually happened. And that it was, indeed, a very good cookie.

The most amusing instance took place on a crowded subway train. “Do I know you from somewhere?”, asked the fellow standing beside me. When I said no, he continued. “Are you sure? You aren’t perhaps an accountant, are you?” Again I answered in the negative. Then he just got to the point and asked me where I was getting off the train, because he could get off there too. I sensed a double entendre. I smiled and replied, “As I said sir, I am not an accountant”. Startled that I was using his code, he laughed out loud. Then he added with faux sarcasm, “Oh. That must mean you are one of those guys into IT and computing.”

Take that, Bill Gates.

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]

Photo credit to Gastoniagrizzlies

Tag: Cub

The Hippo and the Lion – 19/03/2018