The last 72 hours have been spent with a lovely British family on the southern coast of Wales. Among the spectacular rural vistas and beaches nestled into precarious looking cliffs I have seen a male nudist (with, according to my friends jolly English dad, a small willy), roughly 5 million sheep and a couple of castles. Today we spent the day in Cardiff, the capital of the under-rated British nation. While a good portion of our day was spent sitting in a cafe and chatting about Life, some of our time focused upon souvenir shopping for my family members back home. In an attempt to dispel the myth that the British countryside was purely one of excess farm animals and castles, I looked for a small figurine of a male nudist (modestly endowed, obviously) but had no luck. I did however find many a stuffed sheep, dragon figurines and even a tic-tac-toe set with movable sheep and dragon pieces.
My Welsh Wonder Woman (WWW) friend grew up in a small village, of approximately 100 people, about 20 minutes outside the capital. The village is centered upon an 12th century church, and is too small to have its own pub. Thus, as thirsty women, we ventured to another nearby village that had a lovely pub, fully equipped with a fireplace, dark wooden tables and about 20 heavily accented men- who apparently have never laid eyes on a woman before. WWW and I entered into said establishment about as greasy as we've ever been; to give blog readers a sense, I took my hair out of a ponytail just prior to ordering and my hair REMAINED on top of my HEAD. Clearly, we were super attractive and ready to mate. Upon entry, the entire bar went silent and our greasy selves were subject of intense scrutiny, scientific in method. It was clear that their questions abounded with thoughts such as: 'What is this thing, called a "woman"?' and ' If we are very silent, will they notice that we are watching them?' We escaped to the lawn before any of them had a chance to prod us and take skin and/or (greasy) hair samples.
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