There were a dozen or so of us in the park, picnicking under a glorious Danish sun. All female, varying ages, enjoying an azure sky; the kind of blue you only see in Copenhagen and only when you are very, very lucky. The kind of Danish summer sky you dream about. Prosecco was poured, toasts were made, sweets were nibbled, savouries savored.
Yesterday, we were ladies who lunch.
Naturally, we immediately stripped down to our filmy, flimsy undergarments and had a pillow fight. We fell about, squealing and giggling like naughty school girls, bare flesh glistening in the summer sun, downy feathers raining down upon us, until we fell, breathless, into a big girly pile and napped, head to belly, in the warm, dappled light.
Of course we didn’t. But I swear to God that’s what every heterosexual male thinks when he hears “I went out for lunch with the…
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