Two degrees of Jenny Crusie

Occasionally this planet gets a little bit smaller. Earth becomes a teeny-weeny, itty-bitty place. Yes, it happens even down here at the bottom of the world .

I do not know Jenny Crusie, but I read her books. Last night, while at a readers club, I thumb through the first few pages of her book, Faking It. I’m one of those who watches all the credits at the end of a movie. I also like to read all the publishing details, the copyright date, the acknowledgements and dedications in the books I read. I get two names down on Jenny’s Thanks To page and shout, ‘Holy crap!’

It seems Jenny and I know the same woman.

Coincidence you say?

Hmm, maybe, but how many people in one town share the same name? How many women with that name live in the same town as Jenny Crusie?

I’ve been wondering what happened to her for the last 15 years. I tried to track her down a few times. The last time I saw her, in the small college town where we lived across the hall from each other, I didn’t stop for a chat. I didn’t suggest a cup of coffee. I should have.

I think of her every April, when her birthday rolls around. She was sweet. She helped plan a surprise birthaday party for me. She had a sultry voice, beautiful brown eyes, long, sleek, black hair I envied. Her dad was a cop. She liked Duran Duran, Melissa Etheridge, and George Michael. 

Cue the Disney music…It’s a small world after all…

I’m not beyond asking a complete stranger for a favour.  I know someone who knows Jenny Crusie. Hopefully, by this time next week, I’ll be talking to a women we both know.

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