For anyone who is keeping up, I am behind on posts. Some days I have no one to really write about, so I end up digging through my memory trying to come up with a story. It's essentially the writing version of looking in your packed closet and having nothing to wear. I apologize for the lack of quality of the next couple of posts.
Ash is aggressive, but to me it's lovely. With me being good friends with her husband for a while, she was a little skeptical of me so she opted to have us meet to quell her suspicions. We hit it off instantly.
She'd rather rock a man's jersey that's too big for her than something that's cut to her figure. She's gladly layer up for a stadium series hockey game without bitching about the cold. After knowing me for only a little bit, she is happy to roll up her sleeves and defend me. Due to a preexisting medical condition, she can't drink-so she's balls to the wall without booze.
Despite all this, she has this quiet softness. She's an incredible listener with a deep empathetic streak. When she goes in for a hug and tells you she loves you, it's not a social grace. She says what everyone else is thinking and doesn't fear the fall out, though she's well versed in holding it together.
For a souvenir of their trip to NYC, her husband opted to get me a Buffalo Sabers rubber duck, but she opted to get me a pocket knife with my name on it. You know, in case it comes in handy someday.
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