Pardon Me?

I was flitting around the store like I usually do when I ran into (not literally although that has happened) one of my regular customers.

She is a sweet little lady. I call her Miss Mary, although she is a widow. Petite. A darling. Comes in every 3rd day or so to pick up some groceries.

As I happened to pass her I smiled and said hello. She looked at me, smiled and said:

You look really tired.

Me: No, no not at all.

Guess who was behind her? BB. He gave me a quizzical look and I hissed that she thought I looked tired. He kept going. And I kept going.

But it got me to thinking. My customers are strangers to me. To my outside life. They know what I chose to tell them. This does not make them friend friends.

And only a friend friend can tell me I look tired aka You Look Like Shit in woman speak.

March 2/23