My Multani Girlfriend

Her legs are fine, but there are issues with her sternum and ribs. It looks like our original estimate of her condition was missing some details.Gus slows down and explains, “There is no way that we will catch the 1400 ferry. We might as well slow down and try to make her as comfortable as possible.”“Damn, that puts us home at 6:30 pm. Next exit, find a gas station so I can phone home to make sure the help she needs is waiting for her.”Hearing me angry, Grace cowers as if she had done something wrong.“Honey, you have no reason to be afraid. I’m not mad at you, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. We are going to find a way to fix you up, so you don’t hurt anymore.”Upon hearing me, she almost relaxes a little.We stop off at Chilliwack and find a gas station with a payphone. I phone our office, and Moira answers, even though it should be Beth on shift.“Good day, Brown’s Holdings. Moira speaking. How can I help you?”“Don’t tell anybody, but we will be home by 6:30.”“Really!!! I thought you. That's when the trouble started. One day, as I was sitting there on a lawn chair near the front of the garage, waiting for the washer to finish, guess who came walking by with her laundry basket on one hip. She didn't say anything, she just looked at me as she walked past. I couldn't not look back. She really wasn't close enough for conversation, but her eyes just kept tracking on me, and I am pretty sure mine were following her, even after she went past.Do you remember the line from that A-hh-nold/Jaimie Lee Curtis spy comedy about "an ass like a twelve-year-old boy?" Well, that was the perfect description. She was in shorts and a tee-shirt. Like the dress from the other day, these shorts looked painted on and her butt was a picture of perfection. She ended up several garages down and across the narrow lot. Like me, she set up a chair and was babysitting her laundry. Most of the folks did laundry on the weekends or evenings, so I wondered at her schedule for a moment when I noticed.
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