Dr. T and I had lunch (delicious)  today at Dos Perros. Their menu, which includes chilaquiles, prompted a Proustian discussion of past trips to Mexico, both together and pre-relationship.

(I should mention at this point that Dr. T and I met on the job at a fairly large government agency  in San Diego.  We both had occasion to cross the border recreationally and for business.)

It was an entertaining conversation, encompassing a roll call of our co-workers (there were some real “characters” there), and touching on the day we met, when he came to work at my office.

As I reminded Dr. T. today, I had a boyfriend on the morning I met him. In one of those Too Cute to Be Believed events, I went home from work that night and got dumped.

I remember the day pretty well after all of these years: I had some sort of car issue, and had to take the bus to work. I was wearing a short sleeved, geranium colored silk top, navy pencil skirt, and caramel colored pumps. (I think I remember this because:  A) I really loved that blouse and B) the irony of feeling so cute in the morning only to go home and get dumped really stays with a girl.)

At lunch time, all those years ago,  I offered to show Dr. T (who was only  “T” in those days) the way to the closest ATM. “Who knew?” I asked him today at lunch.

This little trip down Memory Lane was not only pleasant, but inspiring. Next up: Breakfast With My Snitches…

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