So I met this half naked hot looking Hippie down at the local watering hole while on holiday in Africa and he tells me his name is Tarzan. Ya right! I’ll play along. You Tarzan, Me Joan. We throw back a couple of Zombie’s, Coco Locos, play a little poison darts and before I know it he’s swinging me back to his place! He parks his vine on a huge tree limb and tells me I can open my eyes and let up on my python grip.
Through the light of the full moon there seemed to be a house up a tree. For reals! I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t really feel sick until I had to walk across the swinging bridge to get to the house. When I looked over the side and realized how high up I was and how high I was…I got dizzy.
When I woke up the next day my mates asked me how I was feeling….
I managed to mumble the word horrible! Out of squinting eyes I could see my court of peers who questioned me further…
Why did you drink so much and leave with that Hippie dude? You were lucky he carried you back to the watering hole after you passed out. He didn’t look too happy but then again you threw up on him.
I thought it was all a dream. Completely humiliated and disgusted with myself, I gathered up my purse and crawled to the restroom. I tried to swallow my pride but the taste of wart hog feces gagged me uncontrollably. I turned on the cold water facet in hopes of reviving myself enough to brush the foul mung from my teeth. I stuck my hand in my purse fiddling for my toothbrush and paste and pulled out this photograph.
My blurry eyes widened in disbelief as I tried to focus. Hmmmmmm, Tarzan’s treehouse? Proof that my dream was real?
I haven’t had a drop of booze since that day. Every woman wants a Tarzan to love and protect her and you never know when I might get the chance to meet another Tarzan who ’s looking for his Joan!
Inspiration from photo of Tarzan’s treehouse~Disneyland California