It all started innocently enough. I had lunch plans with my best Tyler friend who said, "Hey I invited my sister too." Not a problem. I love meeting new people.
Lunch was fun. I laughed at their shared stories. Delighted that someone other than me loved bean and cheese nachos. Was thrilled to discover that she, too, believed cream cheese was a food group.
But the next time we had lunch, maybe the following week, it happened.
She stood up and I saw her shoes.
Lavender stiletto platforms. The stuff shoe dreams are made of.
I knew then it was all over for me.
Never mind the fact that her son is named after the very woman whose books shaped my childhood. Or that she's actually BEEN to the little house on the prairie (not only that but spun around in the vast expanse of farmland). She has two sons, just like me, and prays before every meal. We've talked about heaven, purgatory and she knows something about my hell. She loves hot tea and also has a collection of teapots. She's honest and open and has the best laugh. She READS.
Then came the 'favorite laughter.' The moment we looked at each other and knew EXACTLY what the other was thinking and burst into such gales of belly-grabbing guffaws that I'm sure we caused a spectacle in the restaurant. But it didn't even matter.
We're currently planning a fantasy vacation that may or may not involve hoop skirts, a beach, and a carriage ride.
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