Dr. Froggy and I arrive at the resort. It looks like a French Chateau meets Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Rock - an alluring mix of stone and brick. He pulls up to the roundabout and stops the Porsche. I barely reach for the door when it is opened by the resort’s doorman. He offers a warm smile. “Welcome, Miss, we do hope you enjoy your stay…” he begins and stops when Dr. Froggy arrives at my side, and continues. “…and you too…sir…”
The valet comes over to us and also smiles, “May I have the key sir?” Dr. Froggy sighs and makes a face, expressing his complete displeasure that someone other than him is going to drive the car. Why must he behave like that? He is almost 40! This not Ferris Bueller's Day off, they are not taking the car for a spin, just a spot to park!
This also reinforces why one of my favorite jokes is, “What is the difference between porcupines and Porsches?” On the porcupine the pricks are on the outside. The valet and doorman exchange glances and then give me “the look”. The one that says “Desi Girl you are either dating him because he is rich or has a huge penis, because this guy is a jerk and we see no other reason for you to date him." I know the look, I routinely flash it when I stroll along Park Avenue. But I what do I know - I don't like cars, driving is a religion I am not subscribing to, which is why I am content living on a small island.
Once inside we are escorted through the resort filled with clean modern lines, brick pillars in the bar, and a stone fireplace in the lounge. Our escort unlocks the door to our room and I have to swallow my smirk. This freaking resort room is bigger than my apartment!
I set my bag on the luggage stand and unzip it. I root around for my make-up and black dress that requires no ironing. Dr. Froggy hangs his clothes and suit in the closet and goes into the bathroom. I brush blush against my cheeks and look around the room. There is a king sized bed in the middle of the room, windows with molding, and dark panel walls. On the other side of the bed is an air-mattress, nice to see that Dr. Froggy is a gentleman.
He comes of the bathroom dressed for drinks and I duck in to the huge bathroom with a shower and tub, jack and jill sinks against a light brown marble and tile finish. I put on my dress and light pink sweater, and go back into the bedroom. Dr. Froggy smiles, “I like that dress on you.” “Thanks,” I reply. I knew this, which is why I brought it. He goes back into the bathroom and slaps cologne on his neck. “You know I don’t mean to be morbid, but I want to die in the arms of my wife,” he says. “It’s not morbid. Why get married if you don’t look forward to seeing and spending time with that person?” I ask. He nods and we leave the room and join his friends in the bar downstairs.
They are two Punjabi couples, Sudhir and Sudha, and Amarjit and Malini. Sudha is GORGEOUS, and she sports a rock so big I wonder if it will break her wrist. She’s a doctor and her marriage to Sudhir was arranged. I got the Cliffs Notes on everyone before I arrived. Turns out Sudhir was a complete flake in college, no one even knows how he became a doctor because he was very busy smoking pot and dating a blonde girlfriend that his mother chased and then replaced with Sudha. Now Sudhir, Sudha and their two kids live his parents. Aiy.
Both Sudhir and Amarjit are Sikh. Amarjit is turbaned, which I admire dearly. I am proud to be Punju, half Hindi and half Sikh, but I am not Sikh enough to grow my hair and wear the kara, a stainless steel bangle. It takes great strength and courage to be a man especially who does not cut his hair or beard in America.
The gents find the ladies space to sit at the bar and for hours we sit and chat, like we had known one another for years, rather than minutes.