I had a surprise this week when the elderly Muggle lady I've become friendly with over shared walks along the river near my cottage asked if I would like to stop by and watch the Wimbledon final. She's a mothering sort and has had me round to tea often enough that the invitation in itself wasn't unusual. Neither of us had ever expressed an interest
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How did your parties go?
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She's up to something.
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But I do hope someone took pictures.
And perhaps someone has a niece they'd like her to fix you up with?
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Sadly, my sister did not dress up as Touluse-Lautrec, but that turned out for the best, because Lord Renton did. However he declined to walk around on his knees.
And I sincerely doubt that.
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I'm not sure what to make of that, actually. Was she trying to impress this Lord Renton chap?
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Perhaps my father's death has finally hit her? Is three years of denial normal?
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And as far as I know, denial can last for much longer than that.
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I suppose you're right. But I really don't think that's it. Mother isn't the sentimental type.
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What do you think her radical departure from form is all about, then?
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I've no idea, actually. That's why I think she's up to something.
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