FRIDAY HARBOR, Washington Against all odds we are not a punctual people my singer-songwriter cousin Jenny and I meet on San Juan Island, as the ferries do-si-do between Canada and the States. Then we celebrate with some local microbrew and wind up sleeping in her Scooby van at the marina, because we can't be arsed to drive six miles to the county park.
However free, the parking lot is loud, thanks to a nearby quinceañera. So we take a night walk and encounter a sinister slicked-back blondey outside the pub. An adult male who purposely coiffured himself to look like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
"Look, it's ladies," he slurs. "I'm good with ladies. Ladies and dogs."
He reaches towards Brady, the Jack Russell terrier. She bares her teeth but, hell, Jenny and I probably do the same ...
"I love dogs," he shouts. "C'mere and get fuc*ing petted."
How could a lady, of any species, resist?