The other passengers fall silent; there’s nothing quite like a 67 year old camel-toe to arrest conversation.
“What have I told you, Mother, about wearing beige leggings?”
“You’re so conservative,” she giggles, running arthritic fingers through her spiky pink hair. “Where is he then, your new stick-in-the mud?”
“Grabbing a baggage trolley.” He’ll throw a fit, I know it.
“I hope he’s an improvement on your last.”
“Hi,” says Arthur, approaching.
They eye each other appraisingly.
“Nice,” Arthur murmurs, “though metallic green is so much more ‘woke’ than pink, don’t you think?”
Mother links arms with me.
“He’s a keeper, dearie.”
A photo prompt from our very own leader’s travels this week and a bit of light-hearted nonsense from me. Thanks to Rochelle, for her continued leadership of Friday Fictioneers.