Table for One

Oh, it was so romantic. The beach, the sun, the sand, the six — count them, six — various towel sculptures placed delicately in my room at the lovely Iberostar Punta Cana on Bavaro Beach in the Dominican Republic; the pictured kissing swans were surely the pièce de résistance. How nice for them that they were getting some action. I, sadly, was there solo. The job hazards I face, truly. Each morning, I gently woke myself with sweet murmurings about how I’d be with myself forever; this was true love after all. Each day, I took myself for long, intimate walks along the beautiful, creamy beach. At night, I wined myself; I dined myself. I told myself how beautiful I looked in the moonlight. It was, in a word, magical. The swans in my room stared me down for days; I hadn’t the heart to dismantle them. I did remove the flowers each day as they wilted, but every evening, upon returning to my room, I found that Cupid had come in my absence and replaced them with fresh ones. I felt the love. Really, I did.   

Table for One