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We Miss You, Sophie

If I'm at work past midnight, it's a good thing. It means that I'm sitting at the bar with a glass of wine getting to know the guests beyond their dietary restrictions. We've had really great guests the past few weeks, so I'm running on minimal sleep.
When Sophie and Michel first arrived, our exchanges consisted of little more than wine recommendations. By the last night, they had found a wine sufficiently pleasing to their French palates to indulge in several bottles. It's amazing the effect that alcohol has on a language barrier. As we gathered around the bar, Sophie began an hour long discourse on the pleasure to be found in “the lips of a Pedro.” From what I gathered, she was trying to tell that all donkeys in Yelapa are named Pedro, and no other sensation compares to that of donkey lips on the flesh of one's hands and arms.


Others at the bar didn't know what to make of young Sophie, her exclusively black wardrobe and her enthusiasm for the oral contact of donkeys. Even her boyfriend was head-in-hands at this point, but I knew I had found my new best friend. I tried to convince Sophie to join the Verana staff. I even offered her a place in the Treehouse, but to no avail. Michel had important work to do- a large scale art installation expressing his passion for women in words written in human hair on the sides of buildings.
They were gone the next morning, but each time I pass a donkey (here, at least five times a day) I think of Sophie. We're now offering a donkey lip hand treatment at the spa, ask for the Sophie Special.



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