When the countess called Lucia to say that she had met the count, we were a bit wary. It was a Match.com meeting, the countess, ravishing as she is, and was, was then 55.
Okay, I will say this next thing, though the countess is Caucasian, I don’t believe had she had ever dated a White man in her life. The count is WASP.
Her first husband turned into a Black Muslim, and when the kids would come back from a weekend with daddy, the countess would have to spend much time telling them that they couldn’t hate White people, because hate isn’t good, and they would be hating half of themselves.
When I remember the countess as a much younger women I think of her with Southern Black politicians, basket ball teams–sometimes the whole team but that’s just my overly imaginative self thinking. Then again maybe not.
The countess has been around. She’s still the fastest person I know–literally, the woman’s hyper as a mouse racing for the last piece of cheese. The count couldn’t possibly be as quick as her. Or know as much–the countess is the single most informed person I know, and that’s saying a lot.
The count turned out to be able to match her exactly. Watching them together is like participating in a heavy sport because our pulses and heart rate quickens; we become exhausted and just want to watch HGTV or something like that.
Yesterday was the countess’s birthday. At the end of the month, they’ll be celebrating their second wedding anniversary.
I will always be able to say that I went to a Match.Com wedding in the Bahamas.
They’re so cute together. They call each other constantly–it can drive you batty–as the countess, strong independent woman asks the count if she should buy a towel–but she never asks about shoes or clothes. It’s a given that she’ll buy whatever she wants. Though the countess does search out the best prices. Actually she lives for that. Drives me crazy.
The count has great taste. He and fave-bro-in-law tie in the best dressed “shirts” department. Don’t think that the count wears tees; fave-bro-in-law wins in that department.
Thanks countess for having been so inspirational all these years–and I do mean all of them. Well, there were a few when I first knew you–but ever since…
Thanks countess and count for showing that age doesn’t matter. Okay you’ve had work done. We all know that, and have heard about it even more. I don’t seem like the know everything there is to know about Botox, and much much more. Thanks to the countess I can talk about these subjects until you fall asleep, and while you’re sleeping. Learned that trick from the countess.
But it’s the countess and counts’ inner glow that creates your beauty. They both shine, and omigod are they ever an inspiration for love.
When I get to be the countess’s age then–which isn’t so far from now–I’m going to do a Match.com personal; I’m going to announce my intentions in my blog and from the rafters. Hey, I’m not shy.
I am self sufficient, and not quite ready to join with another force of nature. Like you, dear countess, I’ve formed my own path, traversed my own roads–let me think up a few more cliches.
Oh yeah, I’ve never understood woman who would rather stay home alone than try new things by themselves. Many people can’t understand that or think that’s a cover, but they’re usually the ones who stay home by themselves–which is fun too but not all the time–or are married to somebody they don’t really love.
Me, I can’t do that. Life’s way too short to compromise on quality.
So countess I actively emulate you; my personal heroine.
I won’t spread this around. Don’t want you to blush, and don’t want people to know I really do have an idol.