The thing about change isn’t the change itself. It’s the ripple effects.

We are undergoing a massive, disruptive change right now.

Let’s just say Felicia said “Bye.”  I saw no reason it would be a bad change. Or any at all, for that matter. Felicia had toodle-oo’d long before that.

In any event, the little things are now the big things. The being five miles from mom in case of an emergency, gone. The having a mechanic up the street so I can drop off the car and not miss a beat in my day, gone. The (albeit incompetent) Starbucks 10 paces away that I could wander to, any time of any day, poof. Flip-flops and pigtails, later gator.

For my friends, no more dropping spouses off at work. Or having dinner ready when they come home. Or hanging around late without an hour drive ahead. Or using lunch to run to the vet.

But we won’t complain. We won this round of “Survivor.” The rest, well. I just wish folks knew their true worth. Story for another time. 

The story I will tell today, however, is this. 

The restaurant across the street has Wine Wednesdays. Half-price past 7 p.m. 

 I never did it often enough, but occasionally I would meet my good friend Meiomi for two glasses of her goodness for the same $10 I’d pay for just one any other night. (And yes, I know a bottle is $20-$26 depending where you shop.)

This past Wednesday, I wandered in at 7 between crises. Ordered my glass, and another. 

The guy next to me, another singleton who snagged the other single seat between loads of couples at the bar, said wow. Do they always pour that heavy here?

I said I’m somewhat of a regular. The bartender knows me. 

What I didn’t say, was she didn’t say a word to me. She looked right at my face and instinctively filled that shit up to the brim. That, my friends, is worth a good tip. 

I’m gonna miss her. My bartender, as much as Meiomi at that bar.

As for the guy, I found I rather enjoyed his company. Lives nearby. Was on his way to an event. Wanted a quick beer and salad before he went.

Smelled good, spoke well. Worked it in right away that he’s Italian. A weakness of mine, though I never said that much.

I didn’t say much at all, really. Guys like that. Drives them crazy. Especially when they pump you for information when they can’t put it together that you were calling folks long before you had any information of your own, and you know WAY more than you’ll ever let on. You have friends they don’t know about. And never will. Make ’em squirm. Like they did you.

Anyway, short story short, I knew I was going to meet someone. Didn’t know when or where. Just knew it would happen. 

Hell, based on the fact that he wasn’t a Trump voter qualifies him as husband material. That’s how it goes here. In the Resistance? Check. Likes wine, coffee and beer? Check? Lives in may favorite town on earth? Check, check, check.

What an interesting transition this could turn out to be, to go back to spending my weekends in my town instead of weekdays.

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