… found me comfortably ensconced in a booth at my favorite Mexican restaurant, indulging in a couple sangrìas and about a third of a dauntingly large plate of enchiladas. (The other two thirds is tucked into my fridge for consumption at a time when I’m feeling less full.)
I like this particular place because they know me and my habits, and leave me to scribble in my spiral notebook with minimal interruption. I wrote until I found myself pulled up short by my lack of knowledge on the subject of traveling by horse. I attempted a bit of research via phone (I need an iPhone, dammit, and my contract with my current company isn’t up for a year and half) which was largely unsuccessful. This distracted me enough that I put away my notebook, and shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversations swirling around me.
There was an older lady dining with a friend (married, at one point, to a Spaniard who never taught her how to speak Spanish, but did so beautifully himself, of course) who had been a regular at this establishment, too, as evidenced by the happy hugs and greetings she received from the entire staff. This made me smile, until they asked after her husband, and she told them, in a voice that only trembled a little, that he had passed six months ago, but that he was in a better place, and no longer suffering.
While I reflected on the beauty of an apparent lifelong love (or that’s what I chose, with my silly romantic heart, to believe) my peace was suddenly shattered by the loud, LOUD laughter of a young lady two booths from mine. I could only hear her side of whatever conversation she was having, but it jarred, when compared to the gentle conversation of the older ladies. ”Look, nobody should mess with me. My mood can snap at the slightest thing. Remember when I got that girl at the grocery store fired because I didn’t like the way she looked at me?” She then proceeded to give a rather poor imitation of what the girl had said in an exaggerated ethnic accent, then laughed … LOUDLY again … at her own perceived hilarity.
I looked back at the two older ladies, and found one of them watching me. I suppose my distaste for the loud girl showed on my face, because she gave me a soft smile, then turned back to her friend.
And now I’m home … to research how long it takes to get from London to Scotland by carriage, and, at the urging of a Facebook friend, to check into the marriage laws in Wales during the early 19th century. Why might I need such information? Well … ≈enigmatic smile≈ perhaps one of the twins is a bit impulsive.
Much love, my beautiful friends.