Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson



She’d dropped off the car for servicing one fall morning and foregoing the courtesy ride, walked through Pringle Park enjoying the autumn leaf show.   A young man, a tall blond young man approached, flashed a bright smile and said, “Hello.”  She smiled, said hello back and proceeded on her now merrier way, thinking, “You’ve still got it, girl.” 

A couple blocks later the penny dropped.  That was Craig Jordan, son of her camping buddy, whom she hadn’t seen for most of his adolescence.  Camping was a serious party so as the kids grew, they were left at home to allow the parents unfettered adult fun.  That and the group began divorcing like mad.  Maybe due in part to unfettered adult fun.  Maybe not.  She’s not one to say. 

Anyway, so there was Craig, walking to his high school, recognizing her when she passed by, saying hello.  It wasn’t a Mrs. Robinson moment after all.  Damn.  She burst out laughing like a crazy woman.  Being Salem, it went unnoticed.  

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