Each time her powerful and magical sixth sense she holds unfolds I am amazed to hear the retelling of the tale. Only hours later, or maybe a week, the story beings at the center of the universe, her, and spirals over the vastness of space working its way to the outer reaches of the universe, you and I with everyone else.
It is nerve enough to understand the situation, that the car could have hit her while she talked on the cell phone while doing her nails. Instead the evil driver spawned from the devils loins plowed into her for revenge of cutting her off.
Of course, I am overjoyed to be a moon in her orbit of social circles. They crowd by the soda machine hushed in private whispers, shrouded in a cloak of Chanel, gossiping about “the others.”
How fortunate it must be to live in a world where you are the only one.