Cringing With Petunia

I first met her when I was only thirty-seven. I was in the café carrying a peach when she galloped in. She was wearing a pea green visor, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her spinal cord, but I pretended not to notice.

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

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

At the art gallery, I learned that her name was Petunia, and that she was an exterminator. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a blacksmith.

I guess it was love at first cringe. Some might say we had decks of cards in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. She was fourteen years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still cringing for each other.