I thought her name was Zelda

She was wearing a fantastic purple eye shadow and looked to be somewhere in the sumptuous age of 85.   She was immaculately attired with a gold medallion broach on her navy blue blazer.

“Your broach is gorgeous!”

“Thank you.  My husband gave it to me.  We were married for 50 years.”  She said with a twinkle in her eye.

“What’s the secret…to staying together?”  Her response was immediate.

“You love everything about them their greatness and their flaws equally.  You respect each other.  You discuss your not so nice sides with respect.  You don’t go to bed angry.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me…that was beautiful.  Is you husband…”

“Still alive…no…he died 15 years ago.”

“Have you remarried or are you dating anyone?”

“Oh goodness no.  I would never want to.  When you’ve had the best, there’s nothing else then that…I couldn’t move on from the best…I wouldn’t want to.”

I looked her straight in the eye, woman to woman.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

We shared a common understanding.  There is only one person for some of us.

“I’m Zelma…

“Zelda?”

“No, Zelma.”

Here we were, two kindred spirits separated only by years, lone women…who choose to be alone.

 

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