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When I first saw the two women, I did not once stop to think that their ages were past teenage-hood.They appeared much like such young girls on holiday, a naughty pair of best friends running off together on a little escape away from home and living off their parents’ credit cards, unbeknownst to those hapless mummies and daddies.We have plenty of time people-gazing, Maureen and I, as we are after all past a certain age and aside from burying our noses in our respective mobile phones or paperback thrillers, conversation between the two of us has very much dried up and has been so for a good many years.It’s not to say that we have an unhappy marriage – indeed, ours is a fulfilling one of five decades strong and our devotion to each other is unshakable. But, as the children leave to create their own lives and old age looms upon us, the sense of utter familiarity with the other increases and by no means are we exempted from the well-worn-shoe adage. Struggle as we might in the past against the boredom of being with each other, we have long survived all manner of disagreeable misunderstandings and we are now in a comfortable stalemate of “agreeing to disagree”, as the deplorable saying goes.Our days are now spent in comfortable silence and while we choose to be in close physical proximity with each other, we allow our minds to wander elsewhere. On occasion, we land upon a shared interest and excitement stirs up between us to quicken our blood and we begin to once again engage in discussion, discourse and observation on the matter.Oh yes! Not everything is completely dead between us, let it be said. Which is how, indeed, we found ourselves coming alive the moment our new holiday neighbours checked into their villa, next to ours. We were seated at our shady veranda that early morning – our old bodies slathered to the hilt with SPF and our snow-coloured heads jammed with sensible hats though it was only 9 o’clock, our eyes invariably glued on our phones! – when the new ones trotted by with bellboy in tow, smartly Balgat Escort handling the colourful luggage.The girls – women, I should say – were obviously freshly landed on the island as the unmistakable look of long air travel clung about them, yet they were gay and wished us a hearty good afternoon, with plenty of hand-waving as if they knew us already. Maureen and I heartily wished them back and our senses were immediately piqued though at the time, we didn’t share our feelings about this just yet. But we knew what the other felt.Maureen and I have stayed at the Balinese villa for over a week and after the initial excitement of coming to a far-flung destination lost its exotic appeal, we once again fell back into the familiar groove of comfortable silence from day to night.Thus, I must admit that the arrival of the new occupants of the next-door villa stirred an awakening in us old geezers! As the morning was about to pass to noon, the sun proved much too strong for Maureen and me; therefore we decided to change locations and sit by the swimming pool in the resort’s comfortable lawn chairs to continue peering mindlessly into our phones as we waited for lunch.The shade was delicious by the pool, even on the hottest afternoons. The area was surrounded with an abundance of foliage and flowering trees that were carefully tended to provide cool, ample shade to sitters such as us, as well as anyone who cared for a dip or a swim. The pool itself was a sparkling, vivid blue from the cerulean tiling, contrasting in a fantastic fashion against the frangipani and hibiscus flowers that naturally fell from the trees and shrubs nearby into the calm water. At a close distance lay the beautiful, private beach of Sanur, and closer still was the resort’s restaurant, a few steps away from where we were sitting. Gentle Balinese music that soothed and refreshed the soul piped unobtrusively from where we sat. The girls – ladies! – finally made an appearance, very late. It was close to four o’clock and Balgat Escort Bayan they must have had a very good rest-up, I surmised, as this time they appeared much more fresh-faced. They were now dressed in swimwear and no doubt, Maureen observed in a whisper, ready for the beach. We watched them saunter towards the hot gold sands of Sanur. Instead, and to our secret delight, the twosome made a U-turn and decided on the swimming pool. As we looked busily on our phones, we furtively observed the two new guests.They were physically different as night and day. One was short-haired – almost boyishly so – yet she was an absolute beauty between the two. Her facial features were delicately soft, almost doll-like, and her figure was utterly smashing. I sincerely hoped that no one, much less poor Maureen, noticed that I practically ogled over the beautiful hourglass figure, try as the owner might to cover it up with a charming menswear-like shirt and sarong in white.The other friend, however, was as thin as a rake but I could see with some satisfaction that she, too, possessed some curves – mildly so – at just the right places. Her facial features were sharp and angular, and her wild, wavy hair almost reached to her bottom. She was dressed in floral pinks, with a revealing bikini beneath sporting a similar hue. “What a pair! How did they manage to be friends?” I said under my breath we watched our new neighbours cavort in the pool. Short-hair was an absolute ball of energy, taking up the entire length with energetic, splashy laps and the occasional shout, whereas Wild-curls was demurely paddling by the shallow end of the pool. Maureen giggled gently at my comment.As they eventually stepped out of the pool and wrapped blue-striped towels about their torsos, Wild-curls noticed us and once again gave a happy wave and a smile. Maureen and I returned the gesture. Short-hair gave us a little half smile and a flap of arm at our direction while speaking in a low voice to her friend in a foreign Escort Balgat language I could not discern. They swiftly made a beeline to sit closer to us on the lawn chairs beside us, and Short-hair proceed to ask us how our holiday has been so far as she noticed how comfortable we appeared.Maureen and I laughed, genuinely touched. Not one soul in the resort had truly noticed us at all, as being old people comes with being uninteresting to others. How wonderful it felt to be seen by these vibrant creatures! I felt our perfunctory courtesy slip away and we felt more like ourselves for the first time. Maureen positively glowed from the attention, I noticed, and for that alone I felt a gladdening in my heart.I replied warmly to mention that the food we had was excellent yesterday evening. Short-hair, now fully engaged and an apparent foodie, began to ask amusing questions that revealed an offbeat intelligence that was appealing as it felt so familiar to Maureen and me. Wild-curls sat next to her with an arm flung across her friend’s shoulders as we began to speak. The conversation was lively and we spoke at length, jumping to more and more topics for several long minutes. Our phones were abandoned, forgotten. The twosome could not get enough of us and stated time and time again, in many different ways, how lovely it must be for us to enjoy our golden years together.I must confess that this was one of the most invigorating chats I have had the pleasure to engage in a long time. Wild-curls herself possessed a dry sense of humour that complemented perfectly with Short-hair’s natural jibes and it didn’t take Maureen and me long to discern that these were not idle, rich teenage brats on the run but hard-working professional (albeit deceptively youthful-looking) women who decided to take a pause from their lives to rest and rejuvenate.We parted ways as the late afternoon shifted to evening hours, with promises to catch up for dinner. Maureen and I left to head for our villas with the usual slow gait that old bodies possess, but this belied the hot blaze in our souls that warmed us to our very core. We even held hands as we sauntered through the winding stone-paved walkway to our villa, with the girls – women! – on tow behind us, chatting animatedly in their foreign tongue.
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