Hanging With Colleen

Last time we had a meal out together, I got my hair cut that afternoon. And since the universe has its own little ways of staying in balance, after Colleen got her hair cut this afternoon, we went out and had some food together. Somewhere in between these two eventful days of moderate feasting and trimmed up coiffures, I drove up to the big red house on the hill where she lives and she made dinner. She bakes bread. Mmmmm. She made something delightful called salmon mousse, which I had never eaten before. We drank some wine, and there were tiny cheesecakes for dessert. There was no haircutting involved. Late this afternoon when she arrived at my house, it's a good thing I was in my bathrobe. If I'd had just a couple more minutes, I would have been dressed, and we would have been twins. Blue jeans. Black sweater. Deep pink scarf. Black shoes. Black coat. Somehow I think we are subtlely influencing each other. The pink scarf is my influence on her, basic black is hers on me. Last April, when I had some time between flights at the airport in Phoenix, I looked down and realized I was wearing what I call the Colleen Uniform. Black tank, black cardigan, tan capri pants. I laughed out loud. Then I called her to tell her how I was dressed. She laughed, too. I noticed something else today. She was carrying a very cute purse. But it wasn't black! It was a lovely, vivid shade of blue. Indeed, our fashion sense is mutually contagious. But two things are a given. I will always have the larger number of accessories on my person at any given moment. And she will forever and ever amen own more pairs of black shoes. Tiny black shoes. Most of them with higher heels than I can walk in and appear sober. I don't know how she does it.