To the White B**** who stole my shorts

To the White B**** who stole my shorts

Dear WB,

As you are well aware, at this time each year, I check out of my apartment in the city and check into a cottage on the secluded beach you live on. For the next few weeks, this remote stretch of coastline becomes my base and the languid days filled with swimming, reading and feasting on fresh seafood and wild rice revitalize and rejuvenate both my body and soul.

This year, however, I find myself uneasy, perplexed and, dare I say it, stressed out. And you're to blame.

I've seen you off and on over the last few years and, although you've kept to yourself, I've always acknowledged you with a polite smile or wave when our paths cross. This time it's different.

For one, I notice you now have a young son but no mate in sight. So, I presume, there's a broken relationship there.

But, other than the apparent, I sense a new vibe between us. Every time I walk onto the beach, you sit up and take notice but you never come over to say hello. You timidly approach my towel while I'm body-surfing in the ocean but you immediately scurry away when you see me emerging.

Hey, you're beautiful and I'd like to get to know you better. And, although, calling you over with a loud whistle may not have been the best move, even gently motioning you over sends you skipping off in the opposite direction.

I would have left it at that but you are clearly vibing me. I see you shyly checking me out from your sand dune as I watch the dolphins frolic on the horizon every morning. And we both love watching the indigenous white-breasted Brahminy kites glide through the sky (although I see you glare disapprovingly at me when my eyes wander to the migratory pale-breasted Europeans sashaying down the beach.)

A couple of times, when I've been out for my sunset run, you grabbed one of my flip-flops that I'd left on the dune and ran off. Initially, I thought it was your playful way of breaking the ice so I cheerfully ran after you in the hope of finally making contact but, after an exhausting chase, you just dropped the slipper and ran away leaving me panting and bemused.

But now you've gone too far. When I woke up this morning, my swim shorts that were drying on the clothes rack outside my cottage were gone. Don't try and deny it, I know it was you. The prints on the sand are distinctly yours. I really don't know what to make of this. I'm getting such mixed signals. On one hand you're constantly making eye contact and checking me out but you never want to meet. Then you run off with my slippers and now my shorts.

Are you into me and just really bad at expressing your feelings? Or are you peeved at all males because you were knocked up and abandoned and I'm the most convenient one to take all your frustrations out on? Or, is it a racist thing considering you're so pure white and, after  two weeks in the sun, I'm the colour of coal.

Like all men, I've never really been able to completely understand females; but you, in particular, have got me completely befuddled. Why are you playing these games?

We could be having such a good time together. I'm a lot of fun. I love to play throw and fetch the stick, I'm not afraid to get down and dirty -- I can roughhouse with the best of them and no one gives belly rubs like I do. Just ask your other friends on the beach who, no matter how late I'm running for my morning yoga class, won't let me pass until I put in some quality throwing and rubbing.

Please stop messing with my head. We could really have something special.


The bare-assed guy in the blue cottage

Rahul Khanna(Instagram:@mrkhanna)


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