Simple Simon Avoids a Slap

The badminton match completed, Simon Egdar walked over to the service counter and returned the borrowed shuttlecock in return being refunded the gold watch he had handed over as security. He returned it to his wrist with a sharp snap and sat on the bench to change his dunlop volleys for the camel hair brogues he had bought in Morocco. As he adjusted the velcro on his left shoe, a menacing shadow spread on the ground before him and he looked up. It was an attractive lady, displaying an unattractive scowl on her face. Simon was unsure, but started to get an ominous feeling.

"Er uhm, hello Susan", he suggested more in hope than confidence.
"Sally!", said Sally scornfully.

With that one response, a key was turned in Simon's mind and his memory activated. Scenes of dancing with Sally at the Slug and Lettuce hotel, a candlelit dinner of Big Mac's, and innocent fumblings in the back seat of his Travant flooded back, along with the promise of a phone call that had not been executed.

"Oh yes Sally", he stammered, "So nice to see you again. Uhm, let me introduce you to my friend Stevens".

Stevens was Simons badminton opponent. He stood half an inch taller than five foot eleven and a half inches and was an almost perfect facsimile of the tennis player Bjorn Borg. From the moment Sally glanced towards him, a calmness and/or lack of tension decended on the scene.

"Stevens?", queried Sally sweetly, "Why does Simon call you by your surname?"
"Actually, Stevens is my first name. My parents only wanted a single child but were afraid that I would experience single child syndrome. They decided to give me a non-singular name in the hope it could be avoided. They were kind of strange", explained Stevens, straightening his headband and adjusting the strings on his wooden tennis racket.
"Interesting. Would you like to come for a drink?"
"I would love to", piped up Simon, misreading the situation abysmally.
"Not you, Simon, I'm speaking to your friend", she snapped.

The two strolled away towards the bar, leaving Simon to ponder the ability of men who possessed the looks of attractive tennis players from the 1970's to diffuse the wrath of women scorned. He committed to the idea of growing a large McEnroe like hairstyle and foolishly considered his problems solved.

The End