“My cloud looks like a snake,” hissed Annie in a poor imitation of her chosen animal.
Tommy looked up with more consideration than his would-be girlfriend. “My cloud looks like a rhinoceros and it’s going to stomp on your little snake until it’s flat.” Would-be was the opportune word because now he’d never get the chance to be her boyfriend.
Cunning Jenny, a year older and wiser than the rest of us, thought long and hard before decrypting her cloud. After mulling over a few half-spoken nouns, she said, “My cloud is a locomotive and ain’t gonna stop for you.”
I was quite impressed by the flourish as she pointed to each of us in turn. She finished with a bawdy laugh and took another swig of her Cola.
“So?” said Annie, still in a huff.
“What?” said I.
“What’s yours?” she pressed.
“Oh, I can’t think of anything. Jenny wins.”
“Go on, I dare you,” she insisted.
“No, honest, she wins. I’m beat.”
But in truth, I’d won, as I knew girls much better than Tommy. It wasn’t until much later that afternoon after two full hours of Jenny’s kisses and cuddles beneath the lemon tree that she said, “Go on, Rich, what did you pick?”
She grinned back.
“A cannon,” said I. “It blew you all away.”