This One, I Want This One
I’d been watching her for a couple of weeks, and I knew there was something special about her, aside from the obvious difference. Every night at dinner time I would go out to the top of the driveway and wait, hoping to catch her eye. I stood well away from the commotion of the twenty or thirty feral cats milling around waiting for their food. They all lived right there under the house so there were always at least a few cats around, but night time was a three ring circus.
Just One Date
"I'll be the brunette in the white oxford shirt and gray trousers carrying a red handbag." Two days earlier my former boss called me to say she had met someone she thought I would like, and she wanted to set me up on a date with him. She thought we'd have a lot in common as he had been in the Marines. I wasn't sure I was ready to start dating, and I told her so, but she said, "Just one date. How bad could it be? If you don't like him, you don't have to see him again."
I Never Really Cared for It
I never really cared for red wine. My first taste was of homemade elderberry wine warmed up in a tin saucepan on the huge monster of a stove in the kitchen of my great grandmother’s house. She would stir a dollop of vapor rub into it until it melted, and if she had it, she would finish it up with some fresh lemon juice. This was her remedy for me at the first sign of a cough or the sniffles when I was a little girl. She would carry it to my bedside in a flowered china cup her mother had brought with her from the “auld country” and she would feed it to me from a tiny silver spoon. In her house wine was kept for medicinal purposes. No, I never really cared for red wine.