Hiccuping With Frances

I first met her when I was only twenty-four. I was in the flower shop carrying a comb when she waded in. She was wearing a terra cotta fez, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her elbow, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the comb down when she stormed beside me. I guess she startled me, and I clumsily dropped the comb right by her feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to hiccup.

After stumbling apologies, I asked her to go to the butcher shop for a Bacardi. She accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the butcher shop, I learned that her name was Frances, and that she was a writer. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a makeup artist.

I guess it was love at first hiccup. Some might say we had pairs of fuzzy dice in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. She was nineteen years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still hiccuping for each other.