Groaning With Newton

I first met him when I was only sixty-two. I was in the cigar store carrying a bicycle when he tore in. He was wearing an orange trench coat, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his appendix, but I pretended not to notice.

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

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

At the bakery, I learned that his name was Newton, and that he was a warehouse picker. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a maid.

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