In the grocery store today, Gentle Reader, while I was “makin’ groceries,” to quote my New Orleanian late mother, I told a random woman she was gorgeous.
You are, I said. The hair, the dress, the flower, everything.
Oh! she said, blushing. Thank you!
She was. Beautiful, I mean. Tall, stylish hair, black dress, perfect skin, flower in her hair like a postmodern Billie Holiday. She was stunning. And I was grateful for that little slice of beauty she added to my life.
Is it weird that I told her so? Possibly. But my husband has asked me to stop telling him when people are pretty, or when I like a dress or outfit, and tell the person. It matters to them, he says. Not to me.
So I did.
I told her.
I hope I brightened her day.
She brightened mine.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 