I've known some "gear head" women who love to change their own oil. Yuck. I just drive a car. I don't ever want to know what's under the hood.It's oil change time by the little sticker on the wind shield. That nasty time-waster job of leaving the car in line at the Quick Lube, sitting on dirty vinyl and chrome chairs in a waiting room that smells of motor oil and reading greasy "Mechanics Magazines."
I threw on a pair of jeans, a sweater and no make-up. I'd match the dreariness of the job. I just wanted to get it over with.
Good. Only one car ahead of me. I went inside and settled into the lumpy archaic chair with my kindle that I remembered to grab. Soon, I was absorbed in "High Heat" and oblivious of the surroundings.
I heard a man's voice from a couple of chairs down, ask, "Aren't you Manzanita?"
Oh crap, just my luck to run into someone I know when I leave the house without make-up. An 80 year old without a hint of make-up is not something you want to see outside of a nursing home. I looked up from my kindle into the handsome face of Leon, one of the best ballroom dancers in the area. Double Crap. No wonder he had to ask if it was me. Ballroom dancing calls for lots of make-up and a filmy swishy dress. That was how he'd always seen me.
We chatted and I got caught up on the ballroom news. I had dropped out of social dancing due to lack of a partner. Leon is not only a handsome older man, but a gentleman of the old school. We always danced when Sharon, his dance partner was out of town.
I know you're reading faster and with anticipation. Is this going to be the beginning of a twilight, passionate love affair for Manzi? Well, is it? Hate to disappoint you but no zinging Cupid's arrows.
Oh, but he did say, "Sharon's leaving for Arizona for the winter. How about being my dance partner?"
My car was ready. I said, "Sure, give me a call."
