At the behest of my dear husband, who never says a negative word about my appearance or behaviour, I decided to go back to covering my gray. I had it done this morning, plus some highlights, and it looks great I must say. I look younger and less tired, just in time for our romantic trip to Rome next week.
I dropped into a local fast-food joint on my walk home from the salon and settled in to my burger and book, when a gentleman sat down at the table next to me. I live in a very Jewish neighborhood, and this guy totally reminded me of my (Jewish) father: one of those older guys, not too tall, thinning grey hair and, ahem, a relaxed look about his clothing. You know, sort of loose fitting trousers, a short sleeved mostly polyester button up shirt, and a plaid wool jacket over top. (My father was a cardiologist and no doubt made quite a good living, but his casual clothes made him look like your neighborhood Home Hardware salesman.*)
Shortly thereafter, a similar looking fellow walks up and exclaims “There you go again, Mort…sitting next to the most gorgeous gal in the place! Every time I see you, it’s the same thing!”
Mort: “Don’t start with me. We’ve got business to do. Leave the poor gal alone….she’s trying to read.”
“But did you see….?”Mort shakes his newspaper at the friend, exclaiming “Enough already. Get me some coffee…there’s something I want you to read.”
My eyes were boring holes into my book at this point, and I’m trying to stifle a smile, but I have to say, it made my day. It’s even possible I did a little hair flip when I turned the page
*And it’s true. One time I was in a hardware store with him when I was about eight, and someone came up to him and asked him for help with some paint.