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Description
Mrs. Ingram was happy to see me as was Lucy, the giant doggo. I thanked Mrs. Ingram for the jambalaya she’d made for me (really good and spicy, even though she made a point of telling me it was her mildest recipe!) and thought I’d be able to just drop off the pot and head on out, but I should’ve known better.

First thing that got her going was my outfit and my coiffed ‘do.

“Ooh, Deej, honey, look at you! Somebody’s either got a date or an after hours job interview!”

I informed her that, yep, it was the former. And then she said:

“So who’s the lucky lady?”

I sort of choke-laughed at that and I could see it immediately occur to her that she’d made a mistake.

“Guy, actually,” I said with a smile, but she still looked petrified.

“Oh, I am a dummy,” she started apologizing. “I’m sorry, Deej, I don’t know why, but I always assumed you were a - you know -“

“That’s okay, Mrs. Ingram,” I assured her, “I’m really not offended. And who knows what the future holds? But tonight I’m seeing this boy I met at the store. His name’s Carlos and he’s a Lit major at UCEM.”

“Well, he’ll thank his lucky stars when he sees you looking like that.”

Like I’ve said before, you can’t help but love somebody like Mrs. Ingram. A person who never had a family of their own, but who has maternal love to share with those she cares for. I’m lucky to have her next door and, usually, I’m more than happy to spend some time chatting with her, but all of my subtly dropped hints about being in a hurry were deflected. I should be all right as long as I don’t sit down, I thought.

Within ten minutes of talk of Lucy’s adventures at the vet and the trials of trying to get heart worm medicine down her throat, I was on the couch, scratching Lucy’s ears and now listening to Mrs. Ingram emote over an article she’d just read about the tragic end of actress Melanie Denberg (star of the movie that Triz and I had just watched on Quinton Nash’s yacht), which only made me think about Triz and how upset I was that she seemed to be upset with me.

“That poor girl,” Mrs. Ingram was saying, “Just a rare soul - so much talent - and so young; the whole thing is so sad.”

It took me a second to snap back and realize she wasn’t talking about Triz. I nodded sympathetically, agreed, and then interjected (finally) that I should get moving. Mrs. Ingram got the hint (finally) and let me go, although she insisted I take the magazine so I could read the article myself.

I was free to continue on my way.

Description
Mrs. Ingram was happy to see me as was Lucy, the giant doggo. I thanked Mrs. Ingram for the jambalaya she’d made for me (really good and spicy, even though she made a point of telling me it was her mildest recipe!) and thought I’d be able to just drop off the pot and head on out, but I should’ve known better.

First thing that got her going was my outfit and my coiffed ‘do.

“Ooh, Deej, honey, look at you! Somebody’s either got a date or an after hours job interview!”

I informed her that, yep, it was the former. And then she said:

“So who’s the lucky lady?”

I sort of choke-laughed at that and I could see it immediately occur to her that she’d made a mistake.

“Guy, actually,” I said with a smile, but she still looked petrified.

“Oh, I am a dummy,” she started apologizing. “I’m sorry, Deej, I don’t know why, but I always assumed you were a - you know -“

“That’s okay, Mrs. Ingram,” I assured her, “I’m really not offended. And who knows what the future holds? But tonight I’m seeing this boy I met at the store. His name’s Carlos and he’s a Lit major at UCEM.”

“Well, he’ll thank his lucky stars when he sees you looking like that.”

Like I’ve said before, you can’t help but love somebody like Mrs. Ingram. A person who never had a family of their own, but who has maternal love to share with those she cares for. I’m lucky to have her next door and, usually, I’m more than happy to spend some time chatting with her, but all of my subtly dropped hints about being in a hurry were deflected. I should be all right as long as I don’t sit down, I thought.

Within ten minutes of talk of Lucy’s adventures at the vet and the trials of trying to get heart worm medicine down her throat, I was on the couch, scratching Lucy’s ears and now listening to Mrs. Ingram emote over an article she’d just read about the tragic end of actress Melanie Denberg (star of the movie that Triz and I had just watched on Quinton Nash’s yacht), which only made me think about Triz and how upset I was that she seemed to be upset with me.

“That poor girl,” Mrs. Ingram was saying, “Just a rare soul - so much talent - and so young; the whole thing is so sad.”

It took me a second to snap back and realize she wasn’t talking about Triz. I nodded sympathetically, agreed, and then interjected (finally) that I should get moving. Mrs. Ingram got the hint (finally) and let me go, although she insisted I take the magazine so I could read the article myself.

I was free to continue on my way.