Every Pot…

There’s a saying meant to cheer up the old and lonely, unloved, unwanted, fusty old spinsterish, bachelorish people sitting sit in front of a glowing TV screen every night, watching Bridget Jones’ Diary, eating sad, desiccated TV dinners and ice cream from the carton, all of them hoping for, pining for, yearning for that ineffable and oft’ disappointing life ingredient, that is…


Naturally, given that I am unmarried and so on and so forth and sometimes eat frozen pizza in front of a movie playing on my laptop, and single has been my most consistent (and preferred) marital status, and “getting” a boyfriend was never easy for me (“Isn’t it like kissing a book?”) I’ve heard the expression many times. “Don’t worry, Martha.” (I wasn’t worried) ” You’ll find someone.”

Every pot has a lid.”

I’m here to tell you that it’s true. I found my lid. It was not at all where I expected it to be. It was so surprising, especially where I found it. I was walking home last week with friends. We’d had coffee at the town’s new coffeehouse (Lovely place. I hope so much it survives). I got to my sidewalk and there in the street in front of my mailbox, was something I thought, at first, was a lost hubcap but when I went out to water, later, I saw that,

apparently it had jumped off someone’s truck,

or out of their RV, camper or?



It was meant to be.


4 thoughts on “Every Pot…

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