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THE AUSTRALIAN HUG

I’ve embarrassed myself once too often, approaching a “stranger” for a hug only to be told “You’re Ida.” And when I query how they know me?

The answer has always been the same. “I was in one of your Pilates classes.”  One of these days I’ll reflect on that some more…

In the meantime, I’d decided to be super careful and on this specific day, I came out of the washroom at the marina, squeaky clean, tote over shoulder, singing away. At that exact moment a black SUV stopped and a petite 4’ 10” or so Pilates type stepped out. Short-ish floral skirt, T-shirt, 2” wide belt emphasizing an “I work out” waistline, blond curls, big round sunglasses, rendering her unrecognizable.

Hah! I was not going to be fooled! “Have we met before?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

And while we studied each other I explained both the reason for the question as well as my mission. (And apologized.)

“Hug Away!” she said and we did. But I couldn’t leave well alone. There was something in her accent…..”You’re British!” I declared triumphantly.

“Actually, I’m Australian.”

So if I don’t make an ass of myself one way, I’ll sure as green fried tomatoes find another way to accomplish it.

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