I have been tired. Very tired. Just look at the photo of me here (no vitamins, curcumin, omega 3, etc. seem to be helping me, at least on the outside). So last week, I was walking into work, slowly, trancelike, looking down at the ground, thinking, thinking, thinking. I have to be careful when I do that because things happen. I miss exits and have to drive at least another two miles to turn around, or I don't see that I'm about to walk into a pothole filled with muddy water, or I answer my home phone with, "Good afternoon. Law office. How may I help you?"
As I walked toward my building, I didn't see the gentleman who I occasionally run into on my way in when he is out having a smoke. We don't even know each other's names, but we always exchange pleasantries. And because I didn't see him, I wasn't prepared for what would happen next.
"I LOVE your hair," he bellowed so loudly, I could have sworn I felt the breeze from his breath from over 20 feet away. The fright that this very loud statement evoked caused my body to gyrate into a near seizure as I jerked, stumbled and grabbed onto the railing leading up the walk. Unfortunately, on this particular day, I thought I would look glamorous leaving my house wearing my 3 1/2 inch Candies. And unfortunately, on this day, my left ankle twisted and one of my Candies somehow dislodged from the griphold my toes had in it, leaving me staring blankly into this gentleman's face, as I hung onto the rail trying to catch my breath.
"Are you all right? Here, let me help you," he said, as his cigarette hung from his lips and smoke wafted around us menacingly.
"No, really, I can get it," I said. "You just startled me."
But he insisted on jamming that shoe back onto my foot while I, embarrassedly, held onto his shoulder as he bent down, trying to make things right. When he straightened himself with a "There," he knocked my lunch bag out of my hand and my green apple rolled out and down into the receiving dock area. "I'll get it," he yelled, running around the rail towards the apple.
"NO!" I shouted back. "Leave it. PLEASE! " I limped toward the door as he grabbed the now very bruised, filthy apple and ran back to me to get the door. As he stood there, brushing off the apple and apologizing, we both looked at each other stupidly.
"You know," I said, suppressing laughter,"Chivalry has been dead for a long time and I think you are living proof that it should remain so."
"Love your hair," he said as we both burst out laughing.
Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma
