There was something special about Donna, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly. Donna was both my hairdresser and my manicurist. She worked in a shop in our small town in north central Texas. I sat in her chair once, maybe twice a month, for years, regaling her with tales of my latest travel, newest purchase, or whatever exciting thing was going on in my life at the time.
A Rocky Year. Donna always remembered what was going on with me from one visit to the next. I enjoyed our time in the shop, and...
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