“I have a vague recollection of having met you somewhere before, too,” she replied with a detached coolness that belied her racing heart and clammy palms to the unexpected but welcome interruption to her shopping by one of the most attractive men she’d ever met.
“I find you each equally captivating,” she purred reassuringly to her beloved two cats, as was her fashion anytime she’d spent solo time with just one so as not to appear to be playing favorites.
“Oh no, I must insist you that you sit down and let me do it,” she said to no one in particular as she began to scrape the remnants of her Stouffer’s lasagna microwave dinner from its plastic container into the garbage can, shaking her head in playful admiration at the gallantry of the imaginary man who often joined her for dinner.
And with one long last look after him as he left the diner, Mary Johnson put the leftover change in the till and then shook her head, bewildered, once again, at the ever-baffling behaviors of the human race.
Life On The Skinny Branches 