Saturday, March 11, 2023

FROM FIORELLA TO MOIRA

 Sometimes Fiorella wonders how many readers she has, but then it may be that she's all alone talking to herself so she doesn't try to find out. It's not like when she was teaching and could take roll. 

Your girl just got back from her daily walk and she can tell you two things she learned from her travel: it is HOT outside and, judging by the number of black cars driving slowly down the street to the cul-de-sac, the Mafia is casing the place. Hope they didn't notice Fiorella twirling her cane/baton/magic wand as she walked along the sidewalk. 

Everything is topsy-turvy today. Fio missed her Friday visit to H-E-B, etc., yesterday because Daughter and child came to visit, so she and her driver will pick up your girl's foodstuff for the week and visit Walmart today. (No need to check out Walgreen's because Son L drove over there this morning and straightened out a mistake in Fio's pills.)

 Ah, the mighty George has just leaped up on your girl's bed and settled his purring self down beside her. Excuse Fio while we touch noses.

As a close to Fiorella's meandering today, she will read you half a page from her second romance as follows:

 ________________________________________________________________________________-

 Moira steeled herself as Rafe escorted her out and bade Astrid goodbye. This would be a very difficult evening. 

Her eyes went wide. Oh my God! Waiting at the curb was the biggest, baddest pickup she'd ever seen.

Rafe's truck looked like nothing so much as Cinderella's coach on steroids, and was waaay too much. It had a generous back seat, an extra-long truck bed, four wheels on the rear, and a big hook thing on the wraparound back bumper. To top it off, COLBY-MCALLISTER RANCH was stenciled in gold on the door.

 Her first impulse was to turn around, run back into the house, and lock the door behind her, but an inner voice told her otherwise. Behave yourself, Moira. Remember that Gram and Gramp are depending on you, that Astrid and Arne are depending on you. Even Ivanhoe, the dog, is depending on you....

 She took a deep breath. "That's--uh--not like anything I ever saw on the streets of Pasadena."

    

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