One Intermission

I never heard somebody tell their kid that they met their grandma for the first time during one intermission. Usually, the crazy boyfriend save `em to repeat it when he stay mad with you. Eh but, this time, he wasn’t fooling. Actually, I think I told him the story.
My real mother and I met during one intermission where I was singing in a piano bar when I was twenty. She introduced herself.
We hugged, and we laughed. We cried, and then she left. I didn’t see her again for another ten years. Yeh, sometimes things like that happen.

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