I first met her when I was only fifty-six. I was in the supermarket carrying a basketball when she hobbled in. She was wearing a forest green overcoat, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her dignity, but I pretended not to notice.
I was about to set the basketball down when she dove beside me. I guess she startled me, and I clumsily dropped the basketball right by her feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to grumble.
After stumbling apologies, I asked her to go to the jewelry store for a shot of tequila. She accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.
At the jewelry store, I learned that her name was Elsie, and that she was a painter. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a slave.
I guess it was love at first grumble. Some might say we had balloons in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. She was four years older than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still grumbling for each other.