Hey Mister

There was a man in the food court today who was clearly smitten. As I approached, he stood there dumbfounded with a smile he couldn't contain and offered me his place in line. 

I declined. I needed time to figure out if my $5 would be enough to cover my lunch. I calculated then confirmed with one of the regulars. She assured me it would be $4.60. Good, now I can order something with confidence. But there he stood. I could see him in my peripheral, watching me and stalling his transaction. It's okay. I get it. I'm jazzy today. 

I did just remix my look. I'd started to hate my hair. It just hung there mocking me, looking so plain and vacillating between medium and short lengths. I'd cut it from shoulder length into a long bob around Christmas. And true to it's name, it kept bobbing up and down a couple of inches every six weeks. I'd get it trimmed and six weeks later need to trim it again. 

Enough! I told my stylist to just kick it up a notch. Then BAM! -  just like Emeril, she chopped that hair away from my head like she was trimming fat from a ribeye. Now, the back of my neck can breathe. It feels grreat and I'm so liberated. 

I'm more attractive, thinner and my posture has improved. Isn't that amazing? I have more swagger in my strut and a brighter twinkle in my eye. I feel good, so that makes me look better. It's true. 

Don't believe me?

Ask the man in the food court who waited lingering over the condiments, just so he could smile at me again and offer his assistance. But it's okay. I can get my own napkins. You just keep standing there looking as I walk away. I didn't even look back.