Pen Pals

I began to spend a lot of time doing research on he old house. The library staff became used to my going through their supply of newspapers on microfilm. After a few hours, I grew tired of staring at the screen, but now and then, I would find a bit of information. No matter how small, it still was exciting. From the county, I had been able to obtain a copy of the deed to the home, and I had found out the names of the owners and their children. I had even learned about how a small fire at the house in the late 1880s spurred a Victorian-style renovation. Its history had begun to unravel and I just had to organize it so it made sense.

I still had nightmares about the house, but the old nightmares were replaced by new ones -this time of a seemingly normal, yet frustrating problem-the pen pal.

While it may seem harmless, I remain of the opinion that matchmakers ought to be shot. In my case, unfortunately, that would be none other than my mother. As loveable as she is, she has one bad habit that I wish she could recover from. She is addicted to the art of matchmaking, particularly fixing her daughter up with potential boyfriends and possible husbands. She tends to look at men from a distance, not even realizing whether they have any obvious faults. Single, male and some similar age is all they need to qualify for my mother's matchmaking club. Unfortunately, one time she made the mistake of fixing me up without realizing he was an unlicensed male. Imagine my surprise when I agreed to go out with a man she met from her job at the supermarket, and a police car tried to pull us over when he was driving me to dinner.