“Remember the time I asked you to the Harvest Ball and you told me you’d rather go with my prize-winning pig?”
I nodded.
“I said that the pig already got his prize…”
“and that I was all yours,” I finished for him.
“I got you in the end, didn’t I Margery?”
My name is Janet, but I don’t tell him tonight.
“Every time,” I smiled.
Mr. Lowenstein lost his farm a few years back when his health started to fade. His Margery has been gone for years.
“It’s time for your meds, dear,” I coax.
“I know, Janet. I know.”
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