Your Accent Mixing With Mine

About a month ago, I went outside to feed my chickens at the ass crack of dawn, wearing an oversized t-shirt I sleep in and flip flops and my hair pointing towards magnetic north. True story: my hair needed a trim in April and by next month, it will be tall enough and kinky enough to block radio signals to Newark Airport. DO NOT FLY. I cannot be responsible for your untimely demise! Anyhoo, so there I am in the backyard, tossing layer pellets and corn to the chickens and refilling the bird feeder, looking my absolute, middle-aged best, when a voice says, “Hello.”

I looked around wildly. This has never happened to me at sunrise before. Just beyond the fence stood the young woman who lives next door, holding a bouquet of long stem purple flowers and looking fresh and vibrant like a Kehinde Wiley painting. I looked at her, a beauty. I looked at me, an old lady who ought to know better, and all I could do was laugh at myself.

Oh the “outfits” this eggplant has seen me wear!

Last week, this young woman moved away. I already miss her. I bought boxer shorts to sleep in in her honor.

One response to “Your Accent Mixing With Mine

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