The invitation said cocktails. I am wearing my pink dress with flip-flops -- an oversight on my part -- and I sip my drink looking bemused, practicing what to say in my head should anyone question my inappropriate choice of footwear.
They've done something clever with the pool: floating candles and lotus flowers. Maybe I should sit on the edge of the pool and kind of romantically dangle my legs over the water. That way I can do away with the fashion catastrophe I am wearing. But I wouldn't want to get my pink dress wet. Conundrum.
I suddenly see him. No, no, I hear him asking around for me. I run towards him and pull him aside.
"What are you doing here?" but I am not really angry.
I pull him along. We sneak up the stairs. It's dark. The carpet muffles the unbearable flipping-flopping of my flip-flops. I find my room. We enter it and wordlessly tumble into bed, our lips locked in a kiss.
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