For some reason, I looked up and back towards my right.  And there she was, Battleship Bonnie.  Or Hurricane Bonnie to some.

She was looking right at me.  “I know you,” she said, at a volume that startled a couple of others in the self-check out at No Frills.

The War Department that is my brain kicked into gear, sweeping the area for threats, making assessments, analyzing inputs, recommending possible vectors of response.  All this buying a dozen eggs on a Friday.

“You’re the guy from the council meeting,” she said, which had people looking back over at me, possibly judging.

So much for my carefully laid strategy of blending in with the gallery furniture at Renfrew Town Council meetings.  I was exposed, right there in the harsh light of day, as “the guy.”

Then I got the report from the War Room.  It was her!  The woman from the council meeting!  I said as much.

And then for the next thirty minutes, we got to talking.

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