Remembering when they first met wasn't hard; Provence is impossible to forget and when you add the introduction to the most beautiful infant ever to make eye contact, you've got a coveted moment in time. Add to it the later encounters, a bit of kid-around-the-corner playfulness and most recently, a live runway showing minus the runway of girl transmogrified you should get the picture. Driving past the cannibalized, overdone, faux landmark called Rock Myworld, Dave cautioned his jubilation to prepare for non-utopian developments in the life of this cherubim but he was so far off base that his nervousness was more representative of a tranny in a prison yard than an adult friend reuniting with his favorite person. He pulled into the driveway clearing his throat and practicing his "Hey there" greeting so it wouldn't reveal his apprehension. It only took seconds for reality to hook in and there he was face-to-face with her, looking all collegiate in the grubby outshirt and torn jeans. "hi, Dave" she offered before he could utter a gasp. She was radiant, magnificent, glorious, OMG and he hugged her - relieved, (can you figure?), so appreciative that the past few years didn't glaze those hazel/blue eyes one shade. They skipped elocutions and jumped into the relic 150 that symbolized Dave's existence better than any other distinction. Before they even got out of the development, she turned to Dave coyly spouting, "You have to know why I called you today. It's not an emergency but this morning I found .... out . . . .that . . . ." Dave woke up startled by the dangling participle the dream abruptly teased him with. Effen precognition. Real or otherwise? Uh-oh, I was brain-texted by Jimmy Rodgers. Maybe tomorrow/