The Judgement of Paris
I guess I must be living out every forty something man's dream: To have to choose between two equally attractive younger lovers. Perhaps it is just my luck. Or my fate? But just as for that mythical Trojan prince whose choosing of Aphrodite's gift of Helen over the power of Hera or the wisdom of Athena ultimately precipitated the Trojan War, choice there has to be if love is to truly take root and flourish as it should.
And at least here that choice is down to just two goddesses only.
Wendy: The supermarket checkout girl. Just 24. Two kids by different fathers, long 'wet look ' blonde hair, petite body, extended happy family, and the face of a nymphet. Boundlessly cheerful enthusiasm for the kitchier side of life: T.V. soap operas, car boot sales, Siamese cats, house plants. And yes, for the other too! Like the time I'd bailed her brother out from the loan sharks. Such a thank you she gave me! And her mum, knocking on the bedroom door after three hours or so and coming in bright eyed and beaming with a tray of sandwiches and another bottle of vino: “Just thought you two love birds might fancy a bit o' light refreshment! Be back to clear way in twenty minutes then you can carry on!” Youngest teenage sister's grinning face peeking round the door ...
Nicolette: Thirty-eight next month. Human Resources Manager, and art lover. Lush dark hair with eyes to match. Picasso and Dali prints adorning the bedroom walls. Florentine guide book placed beside the bedside lamp. So well travelled! And shared late Sunday morning breakfasts of best quality marmalade on toast whilst sitting on pea green Lloyd Loom chairs in a sun warmed conservatory pretending to glance at the Sunday colour supplements. Concerts and recitals. Loves obscure Baroque composers especially. Ever heard of Domenico Cimarosa? His music could give George Fredrick H's a fair run for its money any day. Well, her mother was with the Halle strings section for a time in the '70's after all! Hours spent idly exploring continental art galleries, guide book in one hand, and mine in the other. Easy, relaxed, no need for unnecessary distraction ...
Paris, help me out here mate! For just as you handed your Golden Apple to your chosen winner, so I must now make the Golden Phone Call to mine! It is time, and decision cannot be deferred for any longer. And if that sounds horribly arrogant, please be assured that it is not meant to be.
It's ringing now ...
“Hi yourself! It's me! I have something very important to say to you Wendy ...”
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