My time with her reminded me of summers when I was a child and I nimbly danced through fields of stickers in the sand dunes. I remember carefully scanning the ground, looking for the plant with the sharp yellow burrs that would break off into splinters in my young tender feet. I’d find a safe patch, commit only my toes and ball of one foot, precariously balance on it, one-legged, as I looked for another safe patch in which to commit my other side. All the while, my arms would be full towels, lotions, a radio, and a chair – everything and anything I could load on my body so I wouldn’t have to make a second trip through the dangerous terrain.
So here I was again, tip-toeing through the stickers in my conversation with her. I scanned my mind for a topic that may have a safe patch in it, something that wouldn’t contain a burr to leave a splinter in our engagement. Once an ideal spot was found, I would balance on it, trying to find my next step without dropping my provisions. We went on like that for awhile, she in her opinions and me not wanting conflict to erupt so I could have a peaceful visit with other people there.
My dance was going quite nicely until I uttered the phrase “open-mindedness” and she said replied, “Oh, well, we call that “loose-mindedness.” At that moment, I knew the song was through, the dance was over, and it was time for me to pack my provisions back in the car and head home.
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