There was no one to judge her and her breezy paramour, no one to comment on their age gap or her outdated hairdo. Her chaste courtship with the captain had hardly prepared her for this, but Tiffany caught on fairly quickly.
With each passing moon she cared less for the spoken word -they seemed to be getting along quite well without them. From time to time she yearned for a proper rising agent and a cookbook, but for the most part she followed no recipe at all. Good ingredients are all you need really, and Tiffany had lots of him.
The sun's rays danced upon his beautiful bronze skin. He was the first human she had laid eyes on in a very long time and, clearly, a keeper. He sprinted towards her with the grace of a jaguar as she tossed about the rolling surf. Tiffany inhaled, practically tasted his pina-colada sweat as he scooped her out of the sapphire sea. She found solace in his steely six-pack as he carried her to the safety of a shady palm.
The last thing Tiffany remembered was a crack of lightning slicing the colossal mast in half, dooming her once majestic ship to its royal descent. Without a moment to spare, she jumped in the nearest lifeboat, Dior nightie and all, and pushed off into the churning abyss.
The contrived misnomer of so civilized a dessert had amused her to no end. She imagined that this sun-kissed male on his fairytale island would amuse her no less. Given the choice, Tiffany preferred the latter, though she had enjoyed a second marvelous helping of that pretentious dessert. The island’s natural bounty would never compare to the sophistication of a Brown Butter Pecan Fleur with Crème Anglaise, Exotic Fruit Confit & Brie, but it had its charms.
Tiffany learned to collect water on banana fronds and weave the cutest little outfits out of tortoise shell and seaweed. He would fish and hunt by day while she collected leaves and berries from the Island's tropical tangle.
Tiffany wasn’t entirely distraught for on the morrow she was to marry Captain Alistair McDougal who, as it turned out, was a bit of a drip. Justifiably conflicted and regretting not grabbing a snack, Tiffany contemplated the likelihood of sharks, pirates and cannibals until the deadly duo of sun and dehydration consumed her. She slipped in and out of a state of delirium for what seemed an eternity.
He was down by the shore when she came to. Tiffany could have run, but every female fiber in her body told her to stay put. He had left a coconut shell full of tempting tropical treats by her hammock. Tiffany smiled. She had luxuriated on a symphony of just such fruit her last night on the ship. The captain had insisted she top off her meal with chef Andre’s so called 'Tantric Tropical'.