The English Rose meets Julio Iglesias Junior.


“Hey gorgeous, do you come to the zoo often?  Can I buy you an organic, low-sodium rice cake?  

“You’re lame, Yago.   Those lines are cliché.  About as subtle as old feather-butt behind us trying to attract some chicks.”

“True, my English rose, but aren’t we all just animals?  We got off on the wrong foot with that diaper issue in the ball pool.  I hoped we could make a fresh start.”

“So, my delicate, china tea cup, are you from around here?”

“I’m British, from Jimena, Spain.  And we see each other every week at play group,  Yago.”

“It’s destiny, my little Cornish pastie.  This chance meeting, yet you feel you have known me forever.   Does the phrase Latin Lover mean anything to you?  I’m Spanish you know.”

“Feast your hungry eyes on me, my little Royal wedding hat.  I hear you lovely, English lassies love tall, dark and handsome.”

“Yago, I live in Jimena.  TDH Spanish men are a dime a dozen.  Well actually, in Jimena they are vertically challenged, and handsome might be a stretch, but they are definitely dark. “

And the words tall and dark don’t spring to my lips in your presence.  But I suppose you are kind of cute.”

“You are as observant as you are beautiful, my little Princess Diana commemorative fridge magnet.   Shall I  spice up your Yorkshire pudding with my Chorizo sausage?”

“MOM! Call the police!”

“What? Did I say something wrong? Come back, my little fuzzy black hat that those dudes wear outside Buckingham Palace.  Come back!”

Thanks Hannah for the photos.  And sorry for the three-day blogging absence.  Sick kids, trips to Seville, yada yada yada…..

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