As my faithful, vast worldwide readership well knows, I never exaggerate. You may rest assured that the following story is entirely accurate and would meet the Paul H. Dunn veracity test for inclusion in any Sunday talk or gospel discussion. Sheila and I were enjoying a Polynesian dinner show on the final night of our stay in Bora Bora when the hotties in coconut bras decided to get a little crazy and invite dinner guests to join them. Even though I am mostly reticent to draw attention to myself via public exhibitions of self expression, I was nevertheless silently screaming, "Pick Me! Pick Me!" Unfortunately, I was afraid of appearing a little too enthusiastic in front of my bride. The Polynesian dancer closest to us, asked some very soft looking, self-absorbed French guy with a protuberant belly who declined her invitation and instead chose to nurse his red dinner wine. She then asked another skinny and self-important Frenchman with a toucan sized beak who apparently would rather continue to suck on his entirely offensive dinner cigar as opposed to dance with a Polynesian hottie in a coconut bra. Say What?! Fortunately, I was the next closest male in the crowd. I'm sure she couldn't have missed the eager look in my face, essentially begging to be embarrassed in front of total strangers. Yes, I was chosen to dance with a Polynesian hottie in a coconut bra. Woohoo! What a way to end a most excellent trip to French Tahiti. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, but a Japanese friend, we met on the trip, Hirofumi Nakatsuji had a camera and kindly took a picture of Sheila and I after we danced with our Polynesian friends. It's an axiom of life that if you are asked by a hottie in a coconut bra, "Would you like to dance with me?" the only acceptable answer is: "Woohoo! I'd love to!"? For the life of me, I will never figure out the French.
Above is a picture of the legendary dance troupe and our friends from Japan, the Nakatsujis.