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Dear Reader,
I can't find my watch. The one with the big, bold, orange, strap. It wasn't expensive. I have two other watches, so I guess it's really not that big of a deal--at least that's the story I've been trying to sell myself.
But ya' know, it is a big deal. That watch was different. That watch has a history--probably one that only I can appreciate, but a history nevertheless.
I bought it when I was in Minneapolis on a business trip. My appointment was in the afternoon and I had time to kill in the morning, so I put on my tennies and went for a speed walk around the Mall of America. I wasn't planning on doing any shopping, but when I turned the corner, I veered slightly to the right and mysteriously ended up speed walking right up to the jewelry counter in the Nordstrom store.
And there it was. My watch. It was meant to be. I smiled when I saw it--didn't take me but an instant to commit. I realized I couldn't wear it to my afternoon meeting--a big, orange, banded watch would send a conflicting message with the business suit I had on--but I could clearly see myself wearing it on the plane trip back home, and it was looking pretty darn sexy on my arm.
I'm beside myself. I can't find my watch and I haven't been able to finish this darn column either. It's been sitting in my draft folder for the past two weeks. I think I'm afraid if I write that last line, what I'll really be doing is saying a final goodbye to my watch. And I'm just not ready to do that.
To be continued, when I find my watch.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne@DearReader.com
www.DearReader.com
P.S. To start reading "How to Remodel a Man," and to enter our contest go to: www.emailbookclub.com/alt/reman1.html
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