I've mentioned before that I live in a small farm town, I think. We've lived here almost a year. I hate that the grocery and drug stores aren't 24 hours. I grew up in what I thought was a small town until I moved here. There are times I feel like I live in the tiny town from Footloose, circa the Bacon version of course, but that's just me being dramatic.
I'm thankful that my life hit the fan in this little town because we won't live here forever. No one will remember what happened if you're catching my drifts.
Another reason I actually like living here is that I'm an hour away from where I used to live and grew up. There's no chance of running into someone. This a great way to avoid people I don't want to know anymore and is a nice break from people I like when I'm feeling overwhelmed and anti-social.
Until recently. I saw the girl who picked my scabs while I spent the night at her house in junior high. Ugh. We looked right at each other and neither of us said anything. I don't think I smiled. I don't think I ever smile unless I tell myself to. I recognized her but I dunno if she recognized me. We were in the same aisle for a few awkward minutes and then it was over.
What is she doing here? What is she doing in my Target? My Target is out in the middle of nowhere and you wouldn't be shopping there unless you also lived in the adjacent farmville. So she must live here. Here. Ugh.
This tiny farm town is only big enough for the one of us. Me. I hate to sound like a mean girl, because I'm not, but she's such a hot mess and I look so good for thirty. The end.
P.S. diyheather.com is s'all good again.