Bar bara black sheep have you any wool?

From the moment the bell on the door jingled I had eyes only for the neatly lined up beautiful glass jars of lollies on the counter. I would pour over the lolly purchase decision, carefully wighing up the best value for money and contemplating, as always to no avail, whether or not I should take a risk and lash out my entire $2 on some dried mango. But it wasnt the temptation of dried mango, the delectable honeycomb or the OCD perfection of those lined up glass jars that kept me coming back, it was the unfailing patience, kindness and friendship of Barb the shopkeeper.
At a time when school didnt feel safe and home was no comfort, Barbs shop was an oasis. While the politics of puberty and bullying at school left me feeling isolated and helpless, Barb was a mature and comforting voice of reason and encouragement.
Barbs full name was Barbara. She told me hated it! At school the boys used to call her Bar Bara Black sheep and taunt her constantly. She understood what it was like to be bullied and also stood as a beacon of hope, a promise that one day my hellish treatment at school would be a mere memory and I would be able to live my life not in fear.
Most days I would sit and talk to her while she chopped vegetables and pottered around. Frequently I would ask questions, eager to learn why she cut her vegetables that way, what her kids were doing with their lives and what the glucose syrup for sale on the shelf was used for.
Glucose syrup, she told me, can be used to make hard boiled lollies. That fascinated me and I was determined to buy the jar of it so we could make them together one day like she promised. At $10, it was wildly out of my price range and I set about saving up so I could one day afford it and see the magic of homemade hard boiled lollies.
One day while I was chattering away and and Barb was baking, something remarkable happened. Barb cracked an egg and inside it was not a double yolk but an entire miniature egg with a shell and all. It was amazing and a miraculous discovery that we shared together with no-one else. Years later she brought up the egg incident to see if I remembered, which of course I did and we traded stories about how no-one ever believes us when we tell them about the eggception.
When Barb shut the shop and started La Cucina I saw her far less frequently than in that year, but upon every meeting for the following 9 years she always met me with the same enthusiasm and interest in how I was, and she never made me feel any less that incredibly special.
What an amazing friend.