I have known Jeanne since high school. We attended university together, both studying the same program.
Hadn't seen her in years and years when I was walking back from the hospital about 18 months ago, after having visited Patricia (why she was in the hospital was discussed on this blog at that time, so go back and find those posts, lazybones!). She accosted me on the street. We hugged. We talked for five minutes. And we prom
We became friends on facebook and kept in touch that way until earlier this week when we agreed to have lunch at the Pogue Fado.
We met. We talked. We caught up on things. And she wore make up like I asked her to. She wore pointy shoes, though. I guess you can't have everything.
Much was discussed. The drug abuse. The abortions. The sleeping around with strange men.
And, when I was finished talking, Jeanne began.
She talked about her life over the last 20 years: her children, her ex-husband, her work.
There's always one of those in a woman's life. A fella can't catch a break. What the Hell am I gonna...
Oh, an EX-husband.
Never mind.
It was a lovely lunch. I hope
Can hardly wait.
Bevboy
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