“Extra cheese, please,” Leslie (Double L) said. I used to refer to her as Lovely Leslie, but
shortened it to simply Double L many years ago.
Francisco smiled and made a note on his order pad. “Sure, no problem.”
Leslie looked at me and shrugged. “I’m on vacation.” She took a swig of her Amstel Bright.
No explanation needed, I thought. I was on vacation, as well. And, yes, I liked extra cheese as
much as anyone else living behind the Cheddar Curtain in the great state of Wisconsin.
Cholesterol level be damned. At least for this trip.
We both leaned on the bar at maybe our favorite eating establishment on Bonaire. Pasa Bon
Pizza. New owners as of a year ago, but things are pretty much the same. Good pie, cold beer,
and atmosphere to die for.
We’ll eat there several times over our two week stay.
Our day had started in Atlanta after flying out of Madison the night before. We checked in at
Hartsfield International, stashed our carry-ons above our seats, and settled in as Delta Flight 380
roared over the Caribbean headed toward our favorite little island, our own little piece of
Bonaire, our second home.
Smooth flight and we arrived twenty minutes early. Doesn’t sound like much, but I’ll take every
additional minute I can get.
Tonight, we watched a great sunset with our good friends, Tom and Kate, who own a condo on
the island. They spend several months a year on Bonaire. Later, masquerading as dinner, we
munched on some leftover pizza. Several empty Bright bottles decorated the table on the patio of
unit C7. Leslie’s iPhone played our Caribbean music mix. We chatted about the day’s dives and
our plans for tomorrow. We both sipped cold Brights.
“I have a question,” Double L said, once again wanting to tap into my untold wealth of wisdom.
“Shoot,” I said.
She looked at me. “Why is it the parrot fish always poop right in front of me?”
I didn’t answer. My wisdom didn’t stretch to such matters.
“Seriously,” Leslie said, waving her hands in front of her face, where her dive mask would sit.
“It’s like they swim right in front of me and poop.”
I breathed out, took a swig of beer. “I don’t know, hon. But think of it this way. We spent
Valentine’s Day on Bonaire.” I paused a moment for effect. Then I raised my beer and Double L
clinked my bottle with hers. “Those parrot fish can’t poop that away!” I said.
“No, they can’t,” she said.
We both returned to looking at the dark ocean, listening to the waves caress the shore, a Buffett
tune playing in the background.