I walked towards my gate. I was early. Go to the gate? Read? Get something to eat? Grab a beer? I saw a group of six men sitting at one of the tables in the bar near my gate. As I approached they busted out into the chorus of “My Girl.” I glanced up; they were staring. I laughed a slight laugh and walked to a table in the bar. The bartender was very attentive; he brought me a beer right away.
I sat, typing away, occasionally noticing the boisterous group across the way from me. Older men, several wearing baseball caps. Polo shirts, Bermuda shorts, sandals, some with socks, some sans. Tanned, sunglasses on head, mid-life men out for a vacation. I guessed they were golfers. They had that golfer look.
I continued typing. One glanced over at me as he was finishing his chicken satay. He put the stick up to his mouth, cigar style, and performed a quite impressive impression of Groucho Marx. I laughed again, this time more whole heartedly, then continued my typing.
A few minutes later two of them approached the bar. As they waited for their gin and tonics they struck up a conversation. “So, where are you heading to?” they intoned with a slight nasal accent.
“San Francisco,” I replied.
“Oh, you’re so lucky. Beautiful city.”
“Thank you. Going home. How about you?”
“Vancouver. Been here to golf.” I knew it. They so looked like golfers.
“It’s his 39th birthday. At one time,” the one with crystal clear blue eyes responded with a laugh.
We chatted about Canada, Whistler, San Francisco, Marin, travel, golf, then the one with the blue eyes said, “What’s up with your ring?”
“This? It’s just a ring.”
“What is it? Amethyst?”
I was impressed he even knew what amethyst was. “No. Not amethyst. Amethyst is purple. This is, this is…” How to explain it? It was my impulsive purchase. My JLo pink diamondique obnoxious sparkly, I-love-to-shine ring.
“It’s just a ring. Just…”
“It matches your skirt,” he said.
“Exactly. It matches my skirt. That’s why I’m wearing it. It’s my bling bling.”
They laughed. We talked a little more, then they returned to their group of golfers.
A few minutes later the final boarding call for Vancouver was announced. They picked up their bags, headed towards the gate, turned around, and belted out a final serenade, “My girl… Talking about my girl…”