Swallowing With Hugo

I first met him when I was only sixty-six. I was in the library carrying a flag when he strode in. He was wearing a beige poncho, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his palm, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the flag down when he sidled beside me. I guess he startled me, and I clumsily dropped the flag right by his feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to swallow.

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the insurance agency for a glass of buttermilk. I accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the insurance agency, I learned that his name was Hugo, and that he was a valet. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a colonel.

I guess it was love at first swallow. Some might say we had flyswatters in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. He was fifteen years older than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still swallowing for each other.