Note: This short episode was a true story that I witnessed in the past. I rearranged the sequences and added new dialogues to create a flowing tale.
“My kind of woman is liberal!” Edwin swore to high heavens.
“Demure is the best,” countered Harry, equaling his friend’s enthusiastic announcement.
They were sitting on a concrete bench near the entrance of a big mall. Their female companion went inside to buy cans of soda and three small servings of french fries. Being poor, the combo was the least expensive they could afford but certainly classier than their usual snack of fried banana and plain tap water.
“Look out there,” Edwin pointed out. “Most women who comes here look modern.”
“Absolutely,” Harry cut off. “You’re mistaken. They’re real women: demure.”
“Wanna bet?” Edwin took out a twenty peso bill from his pocket.
“That’s your fare money,” Harry laughed. “I don’t want you walking home.”
Edwin would not be defeated. He and Harry needed some form of distraction while they waited for Glenda. She would bring the solution to their stomachs’ problem.
“Okay, we simply distinguish them as each one comes along,” Edwin suggested. “We base our call on the way they walk, their clothes and how they appear to us.”
“You always cheat,” Harry said, as a matter of fact. “You’ll all call them modern even if you see a nun.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
So, they pretended to be judges in an impromtu modeling session, eagerly branding every woman passing their way. Harry suspected correctly because Edwin changed the criteria every time a demure female walked by.
“You win!” Harry surrendered, not because they observed more modern women but simply to stop the nonsense they engaged into. “I bet that woman is modern, too.”
“Who?” Edwin asked, following the direction Harry pointed to.
She was tall and sophisticated, a true model in every sense of the word.
“I don’t think so,” Edwin covered his eyes, embarrassed to even look at her.
Harry covered his mouth: he would not comment further.
“What are you talking about?” Glenda asked from behind, holding the sustenance they waited.
Edwin whispered, “she has an Adam’s apple.”
Harry nodded repeatedly.
Glenda held their heads each with one hand and bumped them gently.
“Quit messing around,” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s not a she.”
“Demure,” Edwin commented.
“No, modern.” Harry was spot on.