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“So, he doesn’t know your name, what you look likeoryour address?” As we say in the biz, ‘de facto.’’
“Well, you didn’t let me finish on the phone. I am stillquiteconcerned. I am starting to have a real predicament with junk mail. Do you think he is the one signing me up for all these mailers?”
The snooze on my alarm went off again as I reached over and swatted the clock with more force this time.
I scribbled a few flowers down in my prayer journal around today’s notes before putting it away.
As the intoxicating aroma of my automatic coffee maker wafted through my apartment and met my nose. “Time to stop dilly-dallying,” I announced. I considered skipping the early church service today and attending the later, but then I thought of Judy sitting all alone in the pew with no one beside her. I jumped out of bed, the plush carpet greeting my feet.
Though I was careful not to make church a social hour, Judy kept me accountable. Before we met, my self-consciousness took the wheel. I wasn’t terribly shy; I just felt awkward in new places. I used to strategically shuffle in as everyone was sitting down and sat closest to the door until Judy saw me as she walked in confidently and surely and asked me to join her. Thankfully for me, it blossomed into a genuine friendship, and I’ve enjoyed her quirky wisdom that was as truthful as it was funny. So, for all the reasons I attended, Judy’s fellowship was high on the list. For what might seem like an unlikely pair, Judy being 89 and I being 31, we had a lot in common—like we were both single, for one.
Not a week would go by that Judy wouldn’t remind me to trust God and his timing for my love life.
“Are you sure that’s how the verse goes?” I would tease her.
But she knew well the battles of loneliness, having been a widow for nearly half of her life. She would always tease me that if I didn’t start putting myself out there, I would be the bridesmaid at her wedding instead of her at mine. She loved to tease me; our sense of humor was another common ground we shared.
I looked out the window to see how I should dress, as it was common for Judy and I to grab a light lunch after the service. She loved to walk to the bistro that overlooked the town square, rain, or shine, so we could “husband watch,” as she called it. It was important I came dressed appropriately for both the lunch and the jaunt. Although it was a short walk, there was nowhere to hide from the elements. She would playfully scold me if I wore something utterly drab or too plain, but she always encouraged me to be myself. “I know the right one for you is out there, dear, but he might not notice you if you're wearingthat.”
The weather looked bleak with a side of cold, as usual, this time of year. I would need to dress warm, wear something waterproof,unflattering.I cringed, thinking how my hair would react to the humidity.
Shaking the worries out of my mind, I made a small pot of coffee and threw a piece of bread in the toaster. I didn’t normally eat so lightly, but I only had a few minutes before I needed to get out the door. The smell of the coffee energized me, awakening my eyes, and I gulped it down while I buttered the toast and ate it in the hallway on my way to the wardrobe.
Quickly washing the sleep off my face, I grabbed my toothbrush and started scrubbing my teeth while I picked out a bright green sweater, gray skirt with black tights, and Mary Janes to wear. It was closer to frump than high fashion, but I didn’t feel like it wasthathideous. And besides, the shoes were as functional as they werecomfortable.I looked at my reflection in the tall mirror on the back of my closet door. My dark mane was frizzy but shiny. Brushing out my hair, I was relieved I had a full bottle of dry shampoo that gave it bodyandmade it smell like some weird chalk flower.
I swiftly dabbed on a little concealer under my eyes and a peachy-coloredblush to my high cheekbones, using the same blush as an eyeshadow. It brightened me up instantly and enhanced my honey-colored eyes.
I felt refreshed, but then I remembered the rain outside. Grabbing the gray rain slicker from my coat rack near the door, I peeked at my reflection in the mirror and shook my head at my color choice, instantly dulling my outward appearance into a gray, shapelesspotato. I took a photo of my bizarre ensemble and made a silly face, sending it to my mother. She replied immediately:
You look cute, but the color could be better?
(Typing)
(Typing)
(Typing)
Finally, her follow-up text came through.
Or better yet, keep that one. It hides your figure and beauty. Surely, you wouldn’t be the first choice for an abduction wearing that.
(Typing)
Good thinking on the shoes, too.
Gee, thanks. I slid my phone into my pocket. I liked these shoes.
CHAPTER 2
NEIGHBORHOOD WATCHDOGS
“Dear Jesus,
Thank you for my eyes to see that this color is wretched on me.”
Yes, the color couldn’t have been worse for the raincoat, but it was such a good deal that I made yet another fashion sacrifice for functionality. Still, I felt the color drain from my face, again calling my virtual assistant. “Virtual assistant, buy a raincoat that doesn't make me look so dead.”
“I didn’t quite catch that. Would you like me to add a raincoat for your head to your shopping list?”
