Mrs. Avocado [Part 1]

The day I met Mrs. Avaocado it was at a coffee shop.

"A cup of flat white with heavy cream and water," I whispered to the barista as if I was on a covert mission. I sat down with my drink by the book shelf in the farthest corner, unable to free myself of this persistent focus on her. I couldn't put my finger on it. Was it her beauty? Her hair? Her simple presence? Her aura?

I grabbed a book and dug myself in, attempting to lose myself in worlds unknown. "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see," I whispered. What a delight that I, by chance, chose a book by Henry David Thoreau!

I looked up and was startled by a person standing next to me, looking straight into me. It was Mrs. Avocado! My anxiety levels abrupty rose to the stratosphere. She extended her arm to me. A handshake? Then she said, "Hello, I'm Mrs. Avocado. Call me Avo. Now get up and come with me for the journey of a lifetime."