It was an ordinary day.
My music was the same volume as it usually is, and I drove the same road I always do. The same song was on repeat and my brain was swearing at cars for the same bloody reasons.
One cuts me off and I watch it, with a glare in my eye, swerve into the left lane and turn. No blinker, no courtesy. I follow it with my gaze as I wait for the light to turn, and find a place to park.
I walk across the street and at same time as an old man and his son. The older man howls about his hair being “bloody awful,” that he can’t believe he’s in public with such hair.
I kindly comment: “it looks fine.”
The two of them strike up a conversation with me as we walk to our respective stores.
I realize I’d gone too far and stop walking. I look around to find the store name and notice he and his son had stopped as well.
His eyes jolt a bit while he looks at me then pauses. He looks at his son and back at me, mouth slightly ajar.
Uncomfortable, I state “very nice to meet you..”
“You’re beautiful,” he shouts, emphatically. He peers at me looks at every inch of my face and grows nearer. I watch as his eyes trace the shape of my glasses and my face. He quickly looks at his son, I look at his son, and both of them back at me: “Isn’t she BEAUTIFUL?!”
“Thank you…very nice to meet you.” The old man compliments me again as the wind blows my hair into my face and over my glasses. He slowly moves his fingers toward my face to clear the hair behind my ear.
I watch as his fingers move my hair: Every part of me wants to take five steps backward. I grow tense. He keeps looking at me and I at the ground; I step back and he stays put. “Goodbye,” I say and I shoot him a look which would say “you’re a fucking weirdo” in 388 countries.
I turn around, take several steps toward my store, and throw my head back laughing. This is no ordinary day.
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