six degrees.

Six degrees of separation ... refers to the idea that, if a person is one step away from each person they know and two steps away from each person who is known by one of the people they know, then everyone is at most six steps away from any other person on Earth. -Wikipedia.com

Or, as they say in Disneyland, it's a small world after all.

Today I went to Coralville with Lauren, a wonderful new friend of mine who moved here from Colorado in December. Her dad pastors a local church.

Our day together was a lot of fun, and to my relief we both managed to leave the mall without doing any major financial damage.

However, things got truly interesting when our shopping excursion was over. Before heading home Lauren and I paid a visit to Coldstone Creamery. We had settled in at a fairly clean-looking little table, Lauren with her cup of cake batter ice cream laced with gummy bears, and I with my less adventuresome treat, listed on the menu as "Cookie Doughn't You Want Some."

It always amazes me how a conversation evolves. When my friends and I are on a roll, we can weave together topics that would seem totally unrelated. I think it started when I mentioned that a friend of mine used to work at a Coldstone. This friend often wears polo shirts with cowboy boots. But otherwise he is fairly capable of putting together an outfit. From there we launched into our gripes with fashion and the average male. But some of them can't be blamed for their style choices, as I pointed out. Like my dad, who is somewhat colorblind. Others...well, they're too busy checking out what the opposite sex is wearing to really care what they put on their own bodies.

Which brought us to the subject of my ex, whom I called out one day in chapel at ORU for wearing navy pants, black shoes and a brown belt with a very tacky shirt -- after he'd criticized my haphazard fashion sense for about the millionth time.

"At least I match," I had retorted.

But let's face it, many men who are as obsessed with hiking as my ex-boyfriend really don't spend too much time perfecting their wardrobes. I added as a side note that this particular ex is from Colorado.

"Where in Colorado?" Lauren asked.

"Brighton," I told her.

I added that he, too, is a pastor's kid as I filled my spoon with more ice cream.

"Wait...what's his last name?" she asked, a note of hysteria in her voice.

I told her. The spoon sank back into the ice cream, forgotten for the moment as I watched Lauren's reaction.

"No way!"

She started to laugh. Then I started to laugh. I laughed even harder as she spewed a mouthful of ice cream down her chin and then rushed from the table to get another napkin. Meanwhile I nearly fell out of my chair, laughing more hysterically. The woman behind the counter shot us several wary glances.

After Lauren had cleaned up her mess and I had regained my equilibrium, I found out that she met my ex's brother, Nathan, at an airport a few years ago when her sister, Kristy, went on a mission trip with him. Lauren and Nathan crossed paths again on PK retreats and still keep in touch.

The giggling never fully subsided during the rest of our time at Coldstone. And on the way home I spilled my guts about the whole ordeal with...well, I've made it through this entire entry without using his name and anyway, it isn't worth mentioning.

Maybe that whole six degrees of separation thing is truly bringing Lauren and me closer together. Or at least I'd like to think so. It gave me a chance to impart some wisdom I gained out of that messy experience. I think we both opened up a lot today.

But if nothing else, at least Lauren got to hear a really funny story involving a bird and a pan of beef stroganoff.