Posted on Thursday, 25 May 2000

The sun beat down on Mr. Darcy as he lay face down on his towel, waiting for his trunks to dry. He stretched and yawned like a cat, enjoying the sensation. He absently dipped his feet in the sand, letting it run between his toes.

It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Darcy had taken his family to the beach for a day of relaxation.

Just as Mr. Darcy was dropping into a snooze (don't worry, friends, he was wearing sunscreen!), Pamela Anderson walked towards him and spread her towel out beside his. Mr. Darcy looked up and smiled lovingly at her.

Pamela, clad in a leopard-skin bikini, lay down beside Mr. Darcy. "I'm so glad you thought of doing this. It's wonderful here!" she gushed.

Mr. Darcy propped herself up on one elbow and kissed Pamela on the cheek. "I'm glad you're having a good time, sweetheart."

Just then, Elizabeth approached. Seeing Pamela and Mr. Darcy together, her eyes narrowed.

"And just what is going on here, Fitzwilliam?" she fumed.

"What do you mean, dear?" said Mr. Darcy.

"Young lady, have you even put sunscreen on? You'll burn in no time if you don't! And Fitzwilliam, how could you let your thirteen-year-old daughter walk around in public dressed like that? It's shameful, Pamela! You don't know any of these guys. Do you really want that kind of attention?"

"But, Mom," whined Pamela (her child by adoption), "Aunty Catherine bought me this bathing suit. She said it was the height of fashion."

"Which is exactly why I didn't object," added Mr. Darcy.

"Honestly, Mom, I thought it was a bit too much myself," said Pamela.

"We'll see about that," fumed Elizabeth. "Did you bring another suit, Pamela?"

"Yeah," said Pamela, brightening. "I brought that red one-piece from last year. It still fits. Do you want me to change?"

"I would prefer it if you did," smiled Elizabeth.

"The changerooms are up that way," said Mr. Darcy, pointing over his shoulder.

Pamela took her beach bag and scampered off.

"Honestly, dear," said Elizabeth, "I don't know what we're going to do about that aunt of yours. First she tries to meddle with us, then she hits a mid-life crisis and starts dressing like a hooker!"

"Now, dearest," said Mr. Darcy soothingly, "she can't--"

"Well, I don't like it, Fitzwilliam! It's only her own business as long as she doesn't inflict her bad taste on Pamela. How could she--"

"Shh, dear," whispered Mr. Darcy, "she's coming this way."

Lady Catherine de Bourgh walked along the beach. She wore a zebra-print bikini that showed her ribs to rather ill advantage. On her feet were a pair of pink-feathered flip-flops, and on her head, perched rather improbably, was a rastafarian hat, which she had trimmed with pink feathers.

"Good day, Aunt," said Mr. Darcy. "What a, um, daring ensemble."

Lady Catherine smiled primly. "Thank you, nephew. I am all that and a bag of chips, if I do say so myself. I shall have my pick of the men, don't you think, Elizabeth?"

"Lady Catherine," said Elizabeth in angry tones, "if you want to pick up some tasty young thing, that's your business. But when you try to draw in my daughter, I have to object!"

"Draw her in?" asked Lady Catherine haughtily. "Oh, I suppose you mean the bathing suit. I thought it entirely groovy!"

"Groovy, my foot," muttered Elizabeth.

"Why yes! How else is she to find a boy-toy, unless I get her in with the happening crowd?"

"A boy-toy? the happening crowd?!?!?" said Mr. Darcy. "My Pamela is thirteen years old! I'm not even sure I want her dating yet, and you're trying to find her a husband already!"

"Boy-toys are not husband material," said Lady Catherine imperiously. "You know...flavour of the month, summer fling? It's high time Pamela played the field!"

"Remember, Catherine," Mr. Darcy dropped his voice warningly, "this sort of thing has gotten you into trouble before. Surely you remember the scandal surrounding Mrs. Collins."

"Chill out!" sniffed Lady Catherine. "How was I to know she would go ballistic?"

Pamela came skipping along the beach, and stopped uncertainly upon seeing Lady Catherine. "Do join us, dear," said Elizabeth sweetly, a twinkle in her eye.

Lady Catherine looked at the three, one eyebrow arched suspiciously. "Ahhh..." she said nervously, "perhaps I ought to be going..." she got up and began to walk away. The Darcys got up and followed her. She broke into a run, but was no match for the Darcys (besides, who can run in flip-flops?). As they caught up with her, Mr. Darcy flung her over his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the ocean. Elizabeth and Pamela followed, laughing. Mr. Darcy waded out until the waves reached his waist, and dumped Lady Catherine ceremoniously in the water, feathered rasta hat and all.

Lady Catherine emerged, sputtering. "Come back here, nephew! You dweeb! I am most put out!"

As Lady Catherine continued to squawk, the Darcy/Andersons returned to their towels, took some ear-plugs from Pamela's bag, and contentedly basked in the sun.

The End.