Hi there, guys and dolls! Hope your workday Wednesday whisking by! Here’s a little cautionary tale to entertain you on your coffee break.

We had a gal pal drop by for a visit, Trudy. She was our day-dreamy girl, always with her head in the clouds and couldn’t wait to set her feet down on solid marital bliss. Solid she now is, looks like she’s aged ten years and twenty pounds in about 18 months.

She was a secretary to one of our numerous and interchangeable junior execs (Bob, Rob, something like that). Roguishly handsome, with a wit only he could love. Oh, and Trudy, too. Well, his paycheck anyway. Trudy would while away the hours, staring off into space, thinking of ways to change the ring of the phone on her desk to the ring for her finger. And Rob, Bob, whoever was just the victim (um, candidate) to do it.

After many late nights, and long cocktail lunches discussing “important” matters, we were celebrating her engagement. Rob/Bob/Etc. looked like a deer in headlights. He didn’t know what hit him. Of course, he found out approximately nine months later, after being married for seven (apparently babies grow quickly and early around here, who knew ;-)). Rob/Bob/Etc. was officially shackled (he preferred the term smitten, but who’s mincing words at a time like this). Good old Trudy, such a pro! Got exactly what she wanted.

Some might say (not me, of course) what she deserved. Marital bliss turned out to be marital burden. Rob/Bob/Etc. (he still works here, we just don’t know his name, there’s just so many of them) got a little too comfortable in the love nest, while Trudy wished she could fly the coop.

Now ladies, the moral of this story? Be careful what you wish (er, connive) for. Be happy with who and where you are. Pursue what and who you love, but be sure to bloom where you’re planted. One thing that is constant is change and we always pine for what’s faded away, don’t we?

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more posts. And don’t forget to give my Poppy Cove Mysteries a try if you haven’t already.

Toodles, Barbara Jean