"I can tell you right now, she's not the one..."
I rolled my eyes and half smiled.
"Yea I know, but maybe she is? I mean probably not, but you never know is all I'm saying."
My sisters hefty Acura belted down the freeway, tightly hugging the curving stretch.
"She's really smart..." I continued "Tall and pretty..."
Then I stopped myself.
I was repeating myself.
I became a broken record, I became my Mom.
This was before she left me hanging again,
the one who is not the one, that is.
She is, however, the meanest fairy in the woods,
perhaps the fairest.
However, she is capable of issuing the most unfair.
She's kind in text and texting
and scatters happy faces across compliments, but
like her Father is to her
she has become to me, and she can't seem
to get enough of him.
