Birds (the feathery kind, not the womanly kind) seemed to be in a symphonic mood this fine morning.  Once more, he groggily awoke, this time to birdsong instead of Charlette-song.  And what was that smell?  The little minx was thoughtful and nice enough to brew them some coffee.  Reaching for the mug, though he was still laying down, Paul was a little surprised that it was still warm.  Not piping hot, mind, but closer to warm than cold.<br/><br/>His lazy-bones carcass finally outta bed, Paul slipped on his sweat pants, grabbed the mug of coffee, and ventured in search of Charlette.  Approaching her room, the door was open though she was not inside.  Bathroom, living room, and kitchen were also all clear.  Her red VW was still in the driveway, so where was she?<br/><br/>Process of elimination engaged, Paul returned to the kitchen to nuke his cup of java.  Backyard deck?  A pleasant morning, after all, was beginning to take shape.  If she wasn’t there, his search would cease.<br/><br/>And there she was, lounging on a deck chair while enjoying her coffee.  She hadn’t seen him yet, so he watched her for a bit.  To him, Charlette seemed to glow in the early morning sunshine.<br/><br/>Staring is still considered rude, Old Man.  And yet, the question remains.  21 or 31?<br/><br/>Piss off, Paul whispered.<br/><br/>“Hey, Charlette, what’cha doin’?” Paul inquired.  A raised mug, and then he said, “And thanks a lot for the cup o‘ joe.  Appreciate it.”