Yesterday afternoon. I'm sweating it out to a P90-X video. The doorbell rings. 

[As I general rule, my hackles go up when the doorbell rings. I don't know why. Maybe it's an instinctive "fight or flight" response or perhaps I've conditioned myself to respond with my, "I wasn't expecting a guest therefore it's a mass murderer" reaction. Anywhoo...]

A large portion of our front door is glass, so I peeked my head around the corner. I didn't see anyone standing there so I assumed the UPS guy had dropped something off. I went back to Tony Horton and my video. 

♫ Ding-Dong. ♫

Huh. Not the UPS guy. I peek again and see the shadow of a man waiting patiently by the door. I resolve to go shoo the mass murderer away. 

I open the door and am surprised to find David standing there. David is a brilliant writer/photographer in our area, an older gentleman who I probably run into once every six months, at which times we'll chat for maybe 5-10 minutes, max.

"Hey Dena," he said, as if we'd just met yesterday. He pulled out a pen and small notebook. "What did you tell me was the name of your web designer?"

I vaguely remembered discussing my website with David the last time we'd met. Six months ago. 

"Oh, uh, Melody Watson," I said. "At melodywatson.com."

"Mel-ohh-dee" he said, writing it down. "Got it." He turned to go, then seemed to realize the situation maybe called for a bit more. "You doin' okay?" he asked. 

"Yeah, great," I said. "Just exercising, getting ready for a big race. You?"

"Doing good, doing good. Well, nice seeing you." 

And with that, he turned and walked down the porch steps and was gone. 

Later that night I described the encounter to Blair, who laughed and said, "That's classic Madison."

Yes, it is. And a great reminder of why I love living in this quirky little town.