It was a sultry August day in Madison, Maine when…
Ok, that just sounds silly. What am I, a romance writer? If I ever come out with descriptions of bustiers and silk stockings you have my permission to… Wait! I do have a post about those things so I’d better not tell you what to do. If I tell you what to do, you’ll do it. Let’s just forget this paragraph ever existed and I’ll go on telling you about how I met my husband.
It was hot that day in Madison, Maine. See how much better that is?
I was coming home for lunch and there was a guy in cords and a t-shirt with his hand in my mailbox. I must have looked a bit alarmed because he turned so I could see a mail satchel. In spite of his lack of uniform, he was our new mailman. We both said hi and I went to have lunch as he continued to deliver his mail. I talked to him a few other times when I would happen to meet him on the street. A couple of weeks later, my job ended and I moved away to go to back to college. And that was that…
A few years later I was corresponding with my step-aunt and she happened to mention that she had a new mailman. When she told me who it was, I realized it was that guy I once saw on my porch on a sultry day in…ok now I’m just playing with you. But truly it was the same guy I saw on my porch with his hand in my mailbox. My comment to her went something like this: “Oh yeah, I remember him, he’s kinda cute.”
You would have to know what my step-aunt was like to fully grasp the thread of this story. She worked in what we call a shoe shop. That’s where shoes are manufactured, not sold. So she was a factory worker who smoked and came across as a tough nut. She had one interest that didn’t fit her persona. She loved to read romance magazines. When she heard “kind of cute,” she was not going to let it go.
I realize that this does not give you the actual story of how I met my husband, but it’s a very long prologue for what appears to be a series of posts. At least a series of two. We all know that now, don’t we?