The rich adore their ice. Marilyn proclaimed them her best friend. I’ve never been a fan.
That’s right — I’m not hopeful for the Hope, pining for that Taylor-Burton or intent to win over a Winston.
So, it took some doing for me to accept the old man’s parting gift, left on my outdoor patio table. I’ll remember him fondly as serious but temporary, at least for this year’s affair. We parted on good terms.
My attention is fickle, however. Winter’s dazzling legacy is no match against my new suitor’s cluster of bright bouquets. There is nothing like that first blush of romance pulsing through veins the color of sunshine. He’s a persistent lover, although a bit too self-absorbed for my liking.
If only he would look up from his own reflection to catch my eye.