She once worked as a gift-wrapper and included a note in one of the boxes: "Help me! I'm being held prisoner in a gift-wrapping factory!" Her boss was not happy.
She can make a face like a cat. And a lizard.
She does a wicked Cartman impression.
She writes poetry. About egg salad sandwiches.
She told me to relax and drink a beer when I was freaking out about my grades in college.
She can row a canoe and rig a fishing pole at the same time.
She takes seven minutes to tell a two minute story.
She's the Scrabble queen. A shit talker and a poor loser.
She feeds her grandKid ice cream and brownies at nine o'clock in the morning.
She is constant laughter and optimism. I don't call her enough, but when I do, she is genuine encouragement.
She is me in 30 years. I could do worse.