I was in Mexico, in a town with a lot of American retirees. At the same hotel were a pair of elderly lesbians from California who oddly did not speak Spanish and seemed a little flustered by it all. So I appointed myself their companion. I was about fifty, and they about ten or more years older.
One of the ladies and I were waiting outside a fabric shop while our third was shopping. An even more elderly American lady approached us on the sidewalk and addressed the woman I was with.
"Are you new in town? You'll love it here. There are nothing but rich little old ladies and," here she turned to look at me, "old men who have had facelifts."
I took off my mirrored sunglasses and said to her, "Excuse me ma'am, I am the bodyguard," and resumed scanning the street.
At this point, the lady I was in saw I set the hook and began reeling her in, "Oh yes, since John died, the nice people at Lloyd's say I have to have someone when I travel to Mexico. I think it's silly, don't you?"
We played her for a good ten minutes until our taxi arrived.