Sunday Brunch with Margaret

I call her Maggie and she doesn't seem to mind.

We've fallen into our routine quite easily, now that summers brought all her lovers into town again.

Sometimes I think it's strange how much we have in common. Had I not outgrown my phase of monochromatic formal wear, I'd consider whether I was a black widow myself. But, I think it's enough that we've both singlehandedly devoured the former loves of our lives. Metaphorically, literally -- it makes little difference.

In fact, Maggie is drenched in metaphors, too. Like me, she has a tendency toward clinginess, over-attachment. We try to keep people in our lives without using our words, or their free will. I'll inadvertently use emotional manipulation, or satin sheets - and Maggie, she has her silk - and we cocoon our loved ones in what we truly believe is love... until we realize it isn't. And it's always too late.

Perhaps one of the only details that separate us is her affinity for fruit flies, and my preference for mimosas.