By the time I was fifteen, all three of my siblings had left home, either for college or work. My mother and I hung out a lot together. At restaurants, our favorite activity was to make up stories about the people around us, giving them characteristics and problems.
The other day, I was having an early lunch at a local seafood restaurant with my husband, and saw an older woman sitting at the bar by herself, with a glass of wine. She had on a wide brim hat, white canvas shoes, a pastel checkered shirt tucked into a pair of khaki capris. Despite her small stature and seeming frailty, she conveyed an air of strength and confidence. She started engaging the young man tending bar in conversation. I couldn't quite hear what they said, but the exchanges seemed fairly lively.
My husband and I started making up a story about this woman. Not only was it a lot of fun but very liberating as well.
I wonder what story the couple at the next table made up about us.
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