Dianne and Tom-- we exchanged introductions --regailed me with the story of their love. I was shocked to discover they weren't the childhood sweethearts I'd expected.
They started as neighbors.
And rivals.
Dianne resented that Tom was called over every time Dianne's mother needed help in the garden. Tom resented Dianne's mother, and by association Dianne, because he hated gardening.
After years of snide remarks and silent rivalry Dianne came across Tom sobbing over a tilled garden plot at sunset.
"Ah-" Dianne said wistfully. Tom braced, ready for a slight he'd heard a thousand times before, "He looks so pretty when he cries, you should see it."
Tom blushed and buried his head in Dianne's silver hair.
"His lip was quivering while he broke down telling me 'I hate it here! I hate worms! I hate lady beetles! I hate the way stinkbugs smell!" Dianne whined theatrically. If not for the smile on her lips and twinkle in her eye I would've thought her to be truly mocking him.
