Happy forty-fifth anniversary.

I was late in meeting a friend at the coffee house down the street. When I sat at the table, she leaned close to me and said, “See the couple over there at that table for two. I heard the barista wishing them a happy forty-fifth anniversary. They sat down and haven’t said a word to each other since. Could you imagine not having anything to say after so many years?”

I spotted their fingers intertwined. The man’s thumb caressed the lady’s knuckles.

I said, “I hope we are that lucky too.”

He rushed off like he had caught fire!

At breakfast this morning, there was a group of women who spoke over each other when the waiter approached the table. He turned, a frown formed on his face, and he rushed off like he had caught fire.

To my surprise, the waiter returned with the orders and placed them correctly in front of his customers. They all paused in their yammering to applaud.

She began to run, but held the gifts far away from her body.

I packed my mini with the things I bought at the craft store, my new projects on my mind. I slammed the tailgate, stood straighter, and noticed a woman on the other side of the semi-crowded parking lot dressed in athletic clothes. She had a flushed complexion, a sheer layer of sweat covered her skin. She held her arms straight out in front of her. A gift tower with a tiny teal bow on top sat in her hands. Once out of the parking lot, she began to run, but held the gifts far away from her body.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and climbed into my car. I happened to head in the same direction of the runner. When I turned the corner, two children held open packages in their hands, had huge smiles on their faces, and hugged a sweaty woman in their arms.

He strutted by the front of my car.

I returned to my car after I purchased my hot breakfast coffee and noticed a handrail thin young man in a worn blue hoodie. The raindrops on my windshield didn’t obscure his droopy pants when he strutted by the front of my car. Smoke and steam billowed from his nostrils appearing like horns of a bull.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and glanced over my shoulder following his path. He hooked arms with a woman in a red cape.

He carries a peanut butter colored, 1970’s styled briefcase.

There’s a man I see every morning during my commute time. He carries a peanut butter colored, 1970’s styled briefcase. He’s usually dressed sharp and his path is determined. When he walks, it’s more like a march. When he runs, it’s more like a prance. He never moves his upper body.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and pulled into the local grocery store. I saw the man march up to a sign spinner. She had earphones and was wiggling to her own beat. He tapped her on the shoulder, their eyes met, and she kissed him on the cheek.

I think, I heard a whimper.

Monday morning, I was sitting and glancing through The Book Thief. I looked up to notice a woman teetering on velvet wrapped, black heeled boots. Her face reflected her discomfort. She huffed when she passed. I think, I heard a whimper.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and spotted a man behind the check-out counter. He smiled at the woman, she frowned. After she put the books down on the counter, he complimented her on her fashion sense. He appreciated her coordinated outfit.

She stood taller with her shoulders back and strutted out the store.

She carried three differently colored bags loaded to bust.

The sun was out, birds were flying, and the sky was blue. This is something rare in Seattle. I was driving at ten in the morning and spotted a woman at the bus stop. She was dressed in a three piece suit and heels. On her shoulders, she carried three differently colored bags loaded to bust. Her beat expression conveyed that she wasn’t enjoying the good weather.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and when I glanced into the rearview mirror, a man in a clown suit offered her a flower and shouldered two of her bags.

The middle-aged woman wore shoes that were three inches to short for her feet.

I took my kids to the mall, shopping for school clothes. My son tried on some jeans and my daughter and I sat, waiting. A group of three females entered the space. One woman was older, one was middle-aged, and the last was a teen. The group stuck out to me because there wasn’t a young man in their group. As the women shopped, they separated, flipping through clothes on the racks. The middle-aged woman wore shoes that were three inches to short for her feet. My daughter and I exchanged perplexed glances.

I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and a man appeared from an employees door. He hurried to the middle-aged woman with short shoes then kissed her on the cheek. When the three women headed out with the man in tow, I noticed the hem on the man’s jeans was above the ankle!