Creeping With Pamela

I first met her when I was only fifty-nine. I was in the art museum carrying a rag when she hopped in. She was wearing a khaki beret, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her shin, but I pretended not to notice.

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

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

At the fabric store, I learned that her name was Pamela, and that she was a typist. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a nanny.

I guess it was love at first creep. Some might say we had baby dolls 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 creeping for each other.