Cringing With Mary

I first met her when I was only sixty-five. I was in the Starbucks carrying a cactus plant when she straggled in. She was wearing an olive green gold medal, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her kidney, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the cactus plant down when she walked beside me. I guess she startled me, and I clumsily dropped the cactus plant 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 drug store for a chamomile tea. She accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the drug store, I learned that her name was Mary, and that she was a baker. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a law clerk.

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