Ahhhh . . nostalgia descends back to the day I (literally) ran into Susan . . . it was Black Friday at the Canby Fred Meyer, and I had managed to dive into the jewelry department, avoiding the worst of the crush. Since that's where I wanted to go anyway (all the organi produce had been completely pulverized by the mad dash to the home decor, shoes and scrapbooking supplies), I cautiously surveyed the Frogger meets Stadium Football scene between jewelry cases. I waved to my favorite jewelry clerk & certified jewel setter who had peeked out from the back room to gaze on the melee. (I look like his sister, so he fixes my jewelry for free.) He gave me a double thumbs-up before ducking back behind the door reinforced especially for that sale. I could just see the whites of his eyes gleaming through the tinted glass porthole. Gritting my teeth with a deep breath, I shot a gap that opened for a split second. With a quick shoulder roll and rebound, I leapt up on top of the case opposite, dancing and bobbing over other bodies clinging to the sides for dear life as humanity swirled and eddied around us, finally making it to the object of my heart's desire . . . the genuine simlulated VS1 flambe howlite pendant just in time to see a strong hand straining through the mass of arms and legs, trying to reach the single, solitary, last one!!!! I let out an Indian war whoop and closed the last three yards in a linebacker dive, smashing heads with the blonde lady who belonged to the hand that had tried to steal my prize, my hand closing on . . . emptiness. The blonde and I drew back, rubbing our rapidly-swelling noggins, as we saw a tiny, lightning-fast, vicious brunette tap dancing on bent backs and prostrate forms on her way to the register, holding that genuine simulated VS1 flambe howlite pendant high above her head, laughing all the way.
"Wow . . . " the blonde said. "She was fast."
"Yeah," I said, really looking at the blonde for the first time. She had a nice face . . . clear blue eyes and a face that had laughter written all over it. "I'm Annalea," I said, holding out my slightly mangled hand.
"I'm Susan," she replied, her hand (only slightly better than mine) came out to meet mine.
"Shall we go hide behind the old Canby Farm, Garden & Pet building while this crowd has their way with the building?" I asked.
"Sounds good," Susan smiled. "There are some nice sheltered spots back there out of sniper range." We laughed, and began the salmon-task of getting out of the building together.
(Yeah, that's just how it was. Harrowing, life-endangering, and all that. Much better than some of those "we met in the mother's room at church" stories . . . ;o)
Now, tell me what part of the above story is actually true . . .
(Posted to Susan's facebook page to commemorate her birthday, and to answer a "How did you meet me?" post.)