There is a particular woman I run into regularly on my walks around
our miniature town. We first met several months ago, brought together by
her overly-friendly dog Toby. After I gave him a treat he was my best
friend, and his owner and I had a lengthy conversation regarding him and
dogs in general, eventually sliding into a sidebar about her painful
medical condition called frozen shoulder. She said she had trouble
walking Toby because of the shoulder. I offered my services, no charge
of course, being dogless and yet still out walking every day, and
passing right near her house. She was receptive to that, and we blabbed
for another 40 minutes, shivering out in the cold February air. She was
nice enough for a Mainer, and we seemed to like each other. Numbers were
exchanged. Then emails were exchanged, and ultimately we made a date
for another walk with Toby.
Our second "date" was fun, I guess, if
you like having someone talk at you for 50 minutes and never ask you one
thing about yourself. We also went to her house, which turned out to be
a Martha Stewart-ish mansion on a hill with wraparound porches
overlooking the water that was about a zillion times better in every way
than my humble abode. It was clear by the two Jaguars parked in her
driveway and her son's private schools and her husband's business acumen
and their boat docked in the harbor and blah, blah, blah that we live
in two different worlds.
Today when I met her on my walk,
we both smiled and slowed down enough to say hi and nice day. No
stopping this time, and even though Toby's tail was wagging furiously,
hers was not. I'm guessing that by now she's driven by my house and knows it could never work between us.
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