On the bus, deeply involved in a Janet Evanovich novel when a masculine voice squished akwardly into my space. I looked up, a nice young 25-ish African American man was talking to me. Two minutes into the conversation and I realized he was hitting on me. For reals? I did a mental scan of what I knew I looked like before I left the house, anything but attention worthy. And yet, here he was, engaged in anxious conversation. He was very sincere - I appreciated that, no cheesy come on lines, nice. So I talked with him to my stop. As I pulled the cord requesting my stop, he extended his hand, introduced himself as 'Shawn' and said he hoped to see me again. Wow. I was touched, slightly flattered and bewildered at the same time.
When I reached my friends house, I hurried into her bathroom to see if I'd turned into a Goddess since I last looked. Nope, still just dopey ol' me. Still it was nice to know someone found me appealing even in my "Troll" mode.
I thought this was kinda cool. My friend asked what was up. I told her about being a troll this morning and then about the young man on the bus. She chuckled. She said, "Know what I saw when I looked in the mirror this morning? For the first time in my life I saw an old woman looking back at me!" She's 85 years old! And she was serious about the 'first time in her life' part. As I cleaned, I thought about her and what she said. Her husband of 62 years passed away a few months ago. He held her hand daily, called her 'Sweetheart' and 'my Precious', opened doors for her - even when he was in his walker and cared for her till the moment he passed. I wondered if that was part of why she never saw an old woman - because when she was him, what was reflected back to her was a beautiful young Goddess. How much difference did that make to her self-image? The comic strip Baby Blues, July 31, 2011, suggests.
Hmmmm . . . . . . . pondering to be done.