Zoe & Sophia Flee to Naples, Florida and Enjoy Sexy Fun in the Sun as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being

January 20th, 2010

January 20th

Please send your ADVICE to two single women, whose lives are suddenly crashing in chaos! Zoe and Sophia, BFFs for thirty years, find themselves unexpectedly cast into the world of re-creation and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They need advice from anyone willing to help them. For instance, what advice would you give your BFF if she asked, “WHY HAVEN’T I LOST MY MIND ONCE SINCE WE LEFT NEW HAMPSHIRE?” Any advice you can give to Zoe would be helpful, but this is what Sophia said.

At 5:50 a.m. Sophia stood in the shower, her body lathered in soap and her hair full of Caviar Conditioner-the crème of hair products for “blond” women over forty.  The shower where she stood was in a hotel near the Manchester Airport. In exactly forty minutes, she and Zoe were due in the lobby to catch the shuttle to their terminal. Sophia’s mind was filled with the sublime lightness of being, knowing that in a few hours, she and Zoe would be lying in the sun that hovered over Naples, Florida. Zoe showered first and stood outside the bathroom rubbing her body with lotion and preparing to blow dry her hair. She looked at the pathetic hotel hairdryer, rejected it, and plugged in her own mammoth contraption. And that decision was how she plunged Sophia into darkness, leaving her flailing about with soap and “Caviar” in her eyes.
“Zoe,” Sophia cried, “Lights, Zoe.”
“Blew the fuse,” yelled Zoe through the door. “Can’t see a thing out here.”
“Fuck sake, call the front desk.”

Sophia was not especially coordinated in broad daylight, but she was lucky not to kill herself, blindly searching for a towel, which she couldn’t find because Zoe had used all four of them and then slung them across a chair, far from the darkened shower room. Shivering and dripping, Sophia felt her way out of the dangerous zone of porcelain surfaces. Thinking she could safely walk, by remembering where the beds were in relation to the furniture, she launched on her journey to find a towel. What she didn’t know was that Zoe had left open luggage in Sophia’s pathway, causing Sophia to trip, skid across the carpet, and hit her head on the table leg, just before Zoe opened the door to the maintenance man. Within seconds, Maintenance Man dazzled the room with light and discovered Sophia, naked and wet, lying on the floor, nursing carpet burns and a bumped head, and balling like a baby.
“Fuck sake, Zoe, get me a towel.”
Zoe turned to smile at the maintenance man then took her sweet time sashaying across the room, stepping over Sophia, and finally flinging a wet towel to her friend. The man neither moved a muscle nor uttered a word. Only when Sophia glared and hissed at him, did he snap out of his catatonic state and hastily back out of the room.

Zoe and Sophia moved with laser speed to catch up the lost time. They managed to make it to the lobby seconds before the shuttle bus pulled away from the curb, into seven inches of newly fallen snow. They needn’t have worried. Their plane didn’t stand a shot in hell of leaving on time.

After the women checked their bags and received their boarding passes, they walked through the terminal with strong, confident strides. Most of the other travelers at that hour shambled around with sleep in their eyes and shirts un-tucked. Not these two, no indeed. Zoe wore yoga pants on her long, lean legs, pants which clung to her small, adorable bottom just so. However, the pants were so tight, that doing yoga in them was out of the question, not that yoga was on Zoe’s mind. On top, she wore a turquoise cammy under a black shirt, with enough cleavage showing to distract even the most devoted security guy. Sophia wore skinny jeans over her equally long, lean legs and her small, shapely butt. She wore a draped-neck, long sleeve shirt, which also showed enough cleavage to distract the security guys. But it wasn’t a guy in charge on Sophia’s turn to glide unchallenged, as Zoe had, through the security portal.

No, it was a mannish woman who hauled Sophia to a caged area, and whose wand molested every limb, until she used her hands to pay particular attention to Sophia’s parts contained within under- wires. Much to Sophia’s horror, the she-guard resembled Fugly, Marty’s troll-like girlfriend, to whom Marty lost his heart and other body parts while still married to Sophia. The likeness to Fugly served as a trigger that ignited Sophia’s trembling sobs, which awakened the entire security force to the probability that Sophia was a dangerous element with a guilty secret.

Zoe watched the train wreck unfold, thinking that she could fade into the crowd fairly easily and that Sophia could figure out a way to catch a later flight. But Zoe’s nobler instincts prevailed when she heard Sophia desperately call her name. Zoe used her drop-dead gorgeous figure to insinuate herself into the circle of male goons surrounding Sophia. She whispered with hot breath into the ear of one of the goons, that her friend was not a threat to the airways or anything else. Rather, she was just given to uncontrollable displays of public grief, having been cruelly dumped for another woman by her jackass husband, Marty. Zoe knew how to pick her men. Turns out, he was the fellow in charge, and Sophia was soon released to flee to Florida.

Once Zoe eliminated the possibility of Sophia’s incarceration, she and Sophia found seats at their gate. Zoe pleasantly engaged two young parents and their three small boys. The kids were enchanted by Zoe’s silly, fun questions and sensed her delight, which reflected her natural ease with children. Sophia, on the other hand, hadn’t quite descended from Planet Nuts, and although she tried to smile and talk to the little ones, her eyes were glazed over like a maniacal gorilla, and her words slipped out in nonsensical utterances, parading as English. Where Zoe made the youngsters giggle, Sophia made them cry.
“Shut the fuck up, Sophie,” whispered Zoe in Sophia’s ear. “You’re scarier than a Stephen King novel.” Of course, the soft, congenial smile never left Zoe’s lips, so the children had no clue what she said.
“Okay, Zo,” said Sophia, throwing her Pashmina scarf over her head like a tent, and sobbing quietly into it, which didn’t exactly make her less conspicuous.

Their flight to the layover in Orlando was uneventful, except toward the end when Zoe’s deprivation of cell phone contact resembled that of an opium addict. Once they deplaned, Zoe left Sophia in her wake as she dashed into the terminal, nudging slow walkers slightly as she streamed through them, her phone poised for action. And Zoe was not disappointed by the sheer number of male well-wishers who’d sent greetings via email, text, and phone. Jackson in Florida, who stopped trying to contain his excitement hours before, had left four phone messages. James in Boston, who recently shifted over to the “friends column” in Zoe’s mental black book, emailed her a fond farewell.  Walter, the traveler, wished her gobs of fun and texted a detailed weather update for the coming week, requiring more than his share of text space. But Zoe’s breath became shallow, her palms sweaty, her heartbeat uneven when she opened the text from the one person who could still swallow her emotions whole, chew them up then spit them out, and Zoe would thank him for the honor of him devastating her. That text was from Ron, the object of her unrequited love years ago, before she married George.

“Why is he writing me now,” she asked Sophia. “I told him he had the wrong number last time he called. Clearly, he should have gotten the message.”
“He sounds like an Alpha male, which means he wants to make sure you stay right where he left you. You need to detach altogether,” said Sophia, as her head swiveled around. “Hold that thought, Zo. But first could you hold my stuff? I saw a cute blouse in a store back there, and I want to go shopping.”
“Fuck sake, Sophie, you don’t have time to shop. The plane is starting to board.”

The flight to Fort Myers passed in a blink, and soon the women were striding toward the greeting area of the terminal. Sophia struggled with her carry-on luggage, tripping every third step while muttering to herself. Zoe felt nervous all of a sudden about meeting Jackson live for the first time. But she needn’t have worried. Soon she saw the tall, gorgeous man, his face lit with a celestial grin, and his arms outstretched in welcome. Zoe felt his warmth, humility and kindness wash over her as a warm ocean wind blows in one’s face on a July night. They did not run and whirl in each other’s arms as she had pictured. Rather, his long, strong arms encompassed both women in hearty hugs. His huge smile and compassionate eyes captured them in the way parental energy can bathe the young in soft shelter and wellbeing.

Jackson drove them to his lovely home in Naples and treated them graciously. Well, let’s say he treated Sophia very well by turning up the music loudly while he carried his exquisite lioness to the den, after calling his friend, Randy, to tend Sophia. Randy was a dutiful buddy and took Sophia off their hands for a couple of hours by carting her to the grocery store, since in the end, that’s truly all Sophia wanted to do–nest. Because she drove Randy a little crazy with her weirdness, he cut and run by late afternoon, with a promise to be back for dinner. Sophia was in her glory with a larder full of food and people to cook for. She spent the early evening preparing a scrumptious dinner, and Randy made one last faithful entrance for his old friend, Jackson.  He showed up to eat, but then beat feet so fast the dust spun from his tires as he made his escape.

After dinner, Zoe walked towards Jackson’s bedroom, which led onto a deck, overlooking a scenic lake, and she stopped long enough to look in on Sophia.
“Hey, Sophie, you good?”
“Way good.”
“Why is that, Sophie? Why are you good?”
“Well, I felt the sun on my face today. And I stocked the kitchen for our whole visit, so I feel at home. Also, you’re happy, Zo.  Jackson’s really a wonderful man, you know.”
“You got that right, sister.”
Sophia, somewhat distracted, precisely arranged on her bedside stand–her cell phone, Pema Chodron’s book of Buddhist teachings, her glasses, warming gel, Chex Mix and Nutella.
“Jesus, Sophie, what are you doing, building a shine? Quit fussing with that shit and talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Did you like Jackson’s friend?”
“He was OK. But I’m not in “the mood” for anyone these days.”
“Is that why he nearly ran out of here?”
“How would I know, Zo? Maybe he got my vibe that I like being with me better than being with guys right now. I loved cooking dinner for everyone tonight because it took care of my nurturing need and people like being nurtured. Win—win. But I’ve learned over the years, that once I start cooking for a man, it often leads to his heart. Once I have the heart, then I have to contend with the ‘you know what.’ After that, the soup gets too loaded with shit like my ego and his ego.”
“Fuck sake, Sophie, where’re you going with all this. Rewind.”
“I guess I took one look at Randy and asked myself which would I rather do–go to bed with him or go to the grocery store? Grocery shopping appealed to me more. It had nothing to do with him. That’s the way I feel about all men right now. Grocery shopping and sex are alike, you know. I get exercise either way. Both start with the selection of raw materials that evolve into something else. The something else with food is a meal, which gets consumed and enjoyed. But it’s over as soon as I clear the table, do the dishes and blow out the candles. With sex, there’s a lingering connection that either advances or withers. That’s just the way I’m built. Sex for its own sake takes up open space. And I’m taking up all of me and my space these days, so what’s the point of planting grapes at the North Pole?”

“You lost me again, Sophie. Can you please try to stay on track long enough to make your point.”
“Zo, do you shave down there?”
“Yes,” said Zoe, grimacing. “Sophie–stay with me, girl–finish your thought.”
“I do too. But it’s tricky. I don’t want to cut myself, so I don’t shave all the way down.” With this she modestly showed Zoe the portion of herself she did shave.
“What the fuck does that have to do with the conversation? And by the way, you shaved the wrong end of things.”
“I did?” said Sophia, looking totally bewildered, until she realized the sense of Zoe’s observation.
“Only you, Sophie, would get it ass backwards.”
“That’s the point, Zo. Why get involved if I already know I’m gonna do things ass backwards.”
“But you do everything ass backwards, Sophie.”
“Do you think I need a better razor?”
“How would I know? Will you get to the point? I have a tall glass of water waiting for me down the hall, and I’M THIRSTY.” But instead of waiting for Sophia to launch back into her verbal maze, Zoe evaporated from the room.

An hour later Zoe, still immersed in her god-knows-how-many afterglows, reappeared and climbed into bed next to her friend.
“Fuck sake, Sophie, you have Nutella on your chin, go wash.”
“No. You want some Chex Mix?” asked Sophia, handing Zoe the bag.
She shook her head then held Sophia’s face still and licked the smudge of Nutella from her friend’s chin. “Where were we with planting grapes and razors and whatever?”
“The point I was making is that I am who I am, and I don’t have room in here for any man just now. But interestingly, I haven’t thought once about Marty since the plane took off. ”
“That’s good, Sophie. Marty did what he did because he’s a weak man. The lying way he did it, trying to convince you that you were crazy because you sensed his affair, also makes him a coward. So, I’m glad you’re not pining for that kinda person. What he did and how he did it were all about him. You don’t have to own his shit.”
“You know what, Zo, I was just lying here wondering, “WHY HAVEN’T I LOST MY MIND ONCE SINCE WE LEFT NEW HAMPSHIRE?”
“Could be.”

“Hey, Sophie. I forgot to bring tanning oil. Do you have some?”
“Nah. But today I bought Extra Virgin Olive Oil. I’m gonna use that on my skin.”
“Good idea and you won’t have to worry about Sparky licking it off your legs the whole time.”
“Do you miss Sparky, Zo? You and that old stroke-victim dog are inseparable.”
“Well, I don’t miss the turds that drop out of his rear end when I’m on a “date.” That kinda spoils the moment for me. And I don’t miss him knocking you over all the time when his legs give out. But, I do miss his sweet eyes and uncomplicated love.”

“Was that a Buddhist thing, Zo?”
“Sounds like.”

“Hey, let’s try on our new bathing suits,” cried Sophia, jumping up from the bed, dumping an entire bag of Chex Mix onto her sheets. “We wanna look good at the beach tomorrow.”
Then Zoe and Sophia stripped off their nightgowns and nearly threw out their backs pulling on the new tight suimsuits, as they floated off on another adventure as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being.

To be continued, and if you want to offer your wise advice, please do so.  Remember, if you want to read earlier adventures, start at the bottom of the blog and read up!

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  1. Fonzie
    January 22nd, 2010 at 15:49 | #1

    Aaaaaaayyy! Two thumbs up to Sophia for completing another chapter in the book of self-reinvention, and also to Zo for looking after Sophia like her stroke-victim dog. Oddly enough (and I am likely as crazy as Sophia), I see a strange parallel between Sparky’s presentation of brown presents and Sophia’s Nutella smudges, and Zoe’s selfless acceptance of both.

    I’m glad they both seem to be enjoying themselves in Naples. I hope their adventure is safe and spiritually enlightening. Careful shaving the toe, So! LOL 😆

    I think that any time spent away from unrelenting adversity helps you open your eyes to see right through it and get a good glimpse of the big picture… it can absolutely change the color of your aura.

    Peace 😎

  2. January 24th, 2010 at 02:05 | #2

    Oh, brother, Fonzie. You’ve done it this time. You talked so much about butts before that you’ve thrown off Zo & So with your deep observations and words like “spiritually.” Okay, now you really have Sophia pissed because you’ve accused her of shaving her toe! Who has toe sex, anyway (she wants to know). I told her, “Talk to the toe.” Zo says enough with the brown smudge imagery. She thinks you’re making fun of poor Sparky. Now she’s crying into the phone. Thanks a pantload, Fonz. Now that you’ve gotten both of them wild, they are just gonna have to go out and find a couple of butts to buy them each a glass of wine so they can see their auras more clearly. I told them it was too late to go out, but they aren’t listening to me. Thanks again, Fonz. Why’d you have to get them started?
    Shake your splintered booty, butt Fonz

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