Sandy was sitting at a table for six in Cafe Sopra at 1:02pm on a Saturday. She had decided to wear the red and back dress, the sleeveless one with the floral thing going on. And the patent leather red shoes with the heels. She was pleased with that decision. And the decision about the Barramundi with the kipflers and caperberries. She felt good on her second glass of bubbly. It was a celebration after all. Carol across from her was wearing her sunnies on top of her head like a tiara. Not sure what she thought about that. Carol asked about the thing at yoga. Sandy wasn’t inclined to discuss yoga with Carol or for that matter with Andrew or Gemma or Mel. Especially Mel. So judgemental. The waiter with the short strawberry blonde curls and the delightful smile brought another bottle of champagne. Domestic actually. Sandy liked that he was wearing shorts. Sandy likes summer and right then, right there, while Mel was waxing excitable about the new woman at the child care centre and how much little Roslyn responds to her – she really does, respond – Sandy cast her mind out like a fishing reel all through the summer, cast it so far it almost reached the end of February and she saw the first leaves changing in her mind’s eye before the third glass was poured. 

Cannylass

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