A giggling 7 year old with long fiery red curls splashed into the pool.
I smiled, splashing back and saying, "hey y'all" as all southern born and bred children do.
Her "hello" was lyrically melodic, fascinating to my virgin ears. I just met Pippi Longstocking, I thought.
"Everyone out of the pool," squawked the loudspeaker, before I knew her name.
A flash of lightening rippling silently overhead, ended our hesitation.
Scurrying us to safety, our mothers exchanged mailing addresses.
Two weeks later, A Union Jack in the left hand corner of her letter revealed everything.
Thus began a British fantasy.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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