I've Been Sassed

So, last Friday, I drove down to St. Louis to hit "Taste of Soulard" as a warm-up to the Mardi Gras festivities. It's a little over 300 miles from my place to Gwen's. She's really good people, and a fantastic hostess. But today isn't about Gwen. (Gwen, I'll rave on you later.)

On the way down, I stopped about 2/3 of the way there, and met up with someone else. Sass. Yes. SASS!

I was running about 30 minutes late due to a slightly late start on my part. It was a beautiful day. Blue sky. Bright sun. More spring than winter. I pulled down a typical street in a typical Midwestern town. I pulled up to a typical house with a typical SUV in the drive.

Nothing was typical for the next 3 hours.

We talked. Told stories. Talked about blogging some. Talked about bloggers a lot. (If you think we might have talked about you, we probably did, but it was all good.) We ate horseshoes. I didn't get a side of cheese fries to go with them. (Trying to cut back.) We had some frosty beverages. We talked about life.

She has depth and is an interesting woman, with a good soul, a quick smile, and an impish twinkle in her eye. I think maybe there was 30 seconds of silence between us. The conversation just flowed. And we were heading back to her house after lunch, the plates on the car in front of us had the word "SASS" on it. That doesn't just happen.

In a flash, our 3 hours had passed (I had only planned on stopping for an hour and a half) and I needed to get on the road, but didn't want to get on the road. When I pulled into that driveway, I was going to meet an "internet friend." When I left, I was leaving a "friend".

Thanks, Sass. And you were taller than I imagined, and "no" it wasn't the 3" heels.