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I want to insert a small comment here. Occasionally I get a letter saying things to the effect of: "Why are you always criticizing the USA? Is Europe without fault? And how about (this or that country), they are doing much worse things than anything the USA is doing."

Well, first of all, USA is the only country on the planet that you can be sure that if it leads the way, much of the world may follow sooner or later. Secondly, USA is great, and comparatively sane and civilized, and it has a chance of improving some things in the short term that you wouldn't have a chance of improving most other places (in the foreseeable future).

You might compare it to me visiting a friend's house and saying to him: "You know your fridge is very dirty, you should clean it, hygiene is safety." If my friend then goes "Why are you criticizing me? Have you seen the Johnsons down the road? Their whole house is filthy, and they beat their kids."

"Sure," I say, "that is why they are not my friends, and you are. I care about you, and I like most things you do. I was just pointing out a small area where you can improve. I did not mean to offend."

Eolake Stobblehouse

Letters to Domai

It was one of those long hot summers that the North Coast of New South Wales (Australia) is famous for.

The local pizza cafe was not doing well, with the lack of tourists stopping, in this out of the way town, the weather being so stinking hot for so long, and to top it of one of the big multi-nationals had recently opened in the town.

The owner of the cafe had come up with an idea to use local girls, scantly clad in bikinis &/or lingerie, to help boost the failing sales, especially at lunch-times and decided to try it a few times a week to see if it took-off. It did at the beginning, especially with the young males of the area (both married and single). But after a time, this too became routine and only a few regulars were left – including myself.

During this time a few of the more friendly girls would sit down with us in the quiet times and over a period we got to know some of them quiet well.

On one particular Friday, when I was preparing myself for the usual lunch festive of pizza, cold beer and friendly, gorgeous, wearing-next-to-nothing, company, the owner asked me if I would like to try a new arrangement that he had developed. Being a friendly sort, I said why not, as I always liked helping out a mate.

It turns out that he had cleaned out a rear storeroom and furnished it as a private booth, complete with small bar, a few tables and chairs and a servery.

One of the most friendly and stunningly elegant of the girls, Ellen, led me into this room and took my order for the usual. I did notice that she had on more clothes than usual, being a short skirt and mini top. When I asked her about this, she said that I would see.

She returned shortly and sat down and we talked for a few minutes. She asked my opinion of the improvements and I said that so far things didnŐt seem any different. The owner then pushed the pizza through the servery and Ellen told me to close my eyes and not to peek. I heard some shuffling about and then Ellen asked me to open my eyes. When I did, in front of me, with my cold beer in one hand, pizza in the other and wearing nothing but her smile and high heels, stood Ellen. "So, what do you think now?" she asked in a slightly nervous voice.

I picked myself up of the floor and scrapped my chin up of my knees. "So how am I supposed to enjoy my pizza and beer now, with this sort of distraction?" I mumbled whilst trying to regain my composure.

This of course broke the ice and Ellen then pulled up a spare chair facing me and asked if she could share my pizza, as she could not leave this room dressed only in her shoes.

After this, we settled down to a most enjoyable lunch and I could only manage to crawl back to work in time to clock off for the weekend.

We had many more pleasurable lunches after that, although I confess that as word of this new lunch service spread, I often found it difficult to book the room.


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