Shaggy not-dog storyPosted: January 11, 2008
He appeared, or rather his hair did, in my peripheral vision as I waited to board the train. A great spiky halo of vibrance, coiled clumps zinging in all directions around a golden-skinned face with huge velvety brown eyes. Gentle eyes. A tall man, six foot or more. A tan overcoat and a canvas shoulder bag.
“God you’re gorgeous” I thought as I very deliberately plopped myself down in the seat opposite. Just so I had something beautiful to glance at between rows of the sock, you understand. But without being observed, naturally.
I smiled as I (kfb, k8, dd, k8, kfb)x4. What, I wondered, would this beautiful creature think if he realised that the ill-kempt middle-aged woman crouched over a tangle of small pointy sticks was licking his lips with her eyes.
Amusement made me incautious. I looked up, smiling, and… he smiled at me!
Not a condescending nor superior smile, neither a fleeting nor flirtatious smile but an open, engaged, luminescent eye-crinkler of a smile.
I was suffused with an inner glow. Suffused, I tell you. I sat thinking how it had made my week, possibly even my month. And if that latter was the case then also my year.
I also thought about how I needed to get out more. And that, if I did get out, I needed to do more knitting and less eyes-closed meditation on public transport.