My Red Silk Parasol

If you see me walking down the street, you will notice my red silk parasol, and you will think (if not say it right out loud) I want to invite that girl to my birthday party.

And you will.

And I will accept the invitation.

I’ll show up wearing my best dress, the one that matches my red silk parasol. And on my feet will be my lady-bug shoes: big bright red glittery red lady bugs resting just under my little toe; my chick-flick-cherry-painted toes peeking out through the plastic.

I’ll bring you a silk parasol. I’ll call ahead to find out what color dress you’ll be wearing. I’ll do that to make sure that the silk parasol I bring you will match your birthday dress.

We’ll sit in your garden, open our parasols, and sip lemonade, and nibble on cookies, and have a chin wag. We’ll talk about our lives: our husbands, our children, our grandchildren. Our triumphs. Our disappointments. Our tragedies, Our hopes. We’ll have no regrets, for we are talking, after all, about the lives have lived and have yet to live.

Red light will filter down on me. (Fill in the color) light will filter down on you.

And when we are through sipping our lemonade and nibbling on our cookies and having our chin wag, we’ll close our silk parasols and each go our own way.

And I will think, “I am so glad she invited me to her birthday party”

And you will think, “I am so glad I saw that lady with the red silk parasol.”

And, then, you will walk down the street. And someone will notice your (fill in the color) silk parasol. And that someone will think (if not say right out loud) “I want to invite that girl to my birthday party.”

Or maybe, if you prefer, “I want to ask that girl to dance.”

Or, whatever you prefer.