Guido met Marsha at a famous bar called Rex and Eric’s in Waikiki. He lived locally. She was on vacation. He’d put on his five gold chains, unbuttoned his billowy polyester shirt with the big collar to reveal just enough chest hair, stepped into a pair of black high-waisted pants that hugged his tight butt, and completed his ensemble with a pair of platform shoes that made him almost seven feet tall. His future wife would call him John Revolting, but Guido thought he was all that on the dance floor.
It was getting late. Guido’s hopes of getting a late-night date were thinning out.
Marsha was in a flowered sarong she’d bought on her trip, and she could shake it with the best of them. Guido spun her a little too hard, and her sarong dropped to the floor, revealing everything except what a pair of pink bikini undies could hide.
Guido jumped into action. He scooped up the sarong and encircled her with it as he hugged her close under the disco ball. Only the most alert patrons got to see anything — it all happened so fast. Midwestern Marsha was appreciative, and Guido’s heroic gesture led him to both a rewarding night and a couple of future dates.
So, to be clear, this wasn’t the worst . . . er, date that ever happened to Guido, but maybe it was the worst wardrobe malfunction Marsha would have in her lifetime and maybe her most memorable vacation.
Couldda Wouldda Shouldda
If Marcy would’ve ended up with Guido, they would’ve invented a sarong with a no-slip clip and patented it. They would’ve marketed their product all over Hawaii, her hometown of Chicago and the Polynesian islands, telling the world how they met and how Guido had saved the day, er . . . night for them both.