I made a friend last night, a Samoan kiwi who had spent the last 12 years playing professional rugby in Europe. I immediately took to him as he had a jovial nature, wide smile and ability to spin tall, tall tales.
I suspect that his true story would make for quality entertainment but instead of blowing his own horn for our entertainment, he mixed fact with pure theater. At some point in the evening he was explaining how he inherited his quick reflexes from his father, the great, white, black man who was John Travolta's backup dancer when a young lady in our group spoke up to express her disbelief in the story (did that mean that she had accepted the previous 30 minutes of storytime because one of the tales involved Nixon).
As she grumbled to me about her incredulity I explained to her that sometimes you must choose to believe because only then can you be carried away to that wonderful place where unicorns, sugar plum fairies and great, white, black backup dancers exist.
I suspect that his true story would make for quality entertainment but instead of blowing his own horn for our entertainment, he mixed fact with pure theater. At some point in the evening he was explaining how he inherited his quick reflexes from his father, the great, white, black man who was John Travolta's backup dancer when a young lady in our group spoke up to express her disbelief in the story (did that mean that she had accepted the previous 30 minutes of storytime because one of the tales involved Nixon).
As she grumbled to me about her incredulity I explained to her that sometimes you must choose to believe because only then can you be carried away to that wonderful place where unicorns, sugar plum fairies and great, white, black backup dancers exist.
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