This morning, I take a header into Meredith's geranium bed. I can hear her about bust-out as I flail amongst her pinks and reds.
My rainbow-striped apron flaps haplessly over my backside like an inverted superhero cape.
Meredith pops out with a loaf of French bread tucked under her elbow. "Go long, girl."
Crouching, I shake geranium debris from my peppery beehive. "Can you believe this!" Meredith laughs like a stork honking, and takes her bright yellow hose and squirts me.
"Stand up, Tillie, before someone calls you a sissy," she says.
I say "Pass it," and go for the forty.
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