Nice is a word I dislike.... it aggrevates me. I'm not sure why. Someone once tried to find the reason why, but I could offer no explanation. She is a nice girl. Nice doggy. What a nice dress. What a nice little old lady. Nice girls don't, but they do really. It seems a polite word. An excuse for a description when nothing else will fit. It is a word I find devoid of true emotion.
Except contradictory as it may seem, that is exactly how Saturday was... nice. The weather was nice. For a mid winter's day the sun was out and there was no breeze to chill the air. The park was green and pretty, even with naked trees there still was some autumn colour left in others. All backdropped by the Australian native bushland.
The company, yes he was... no I'm not going to say it .... lovely, maybe perfect in fact. Contrary to his bad boy looks (don't nice girls always go for the bad boys?). A decent man, and yes he was tall and strong and good looking, relaxed and could handle my gentle stirring. Polite and goodness a gentleman. At the risk of offending the feminists out there, I still do enjoy having my bags carried for me and the politeness of being offered to lead the way. It makes me feel like a woman.
Several hours later of enjoyable company, a stroll through the park, the sun setting behind the hill bringing shadows and the coolness that belongs to the evening, the day was over... finalised by a strong, safe and warm hug and brief kiss .... a natural way to the end the day.
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