Shoes on, I grab my recycling.
Hang it on my walker,
lock my door.
Hair curled. Black, white, & tan dress.
Confident,
I walk out & turn the corner.
wait
let a little girl in a swimsuit pass
With her dad.
She stops, looks me up & down,
Two or three times.
“What is that?”
Her eyes point
to my electric-blue walker.
It helps me walk, I tell her.
“So there’s no seat on it?”
Her head bends to the right.
To get a view of my behind.
Dad gets nervous, & calls her name,
It’s a “come on, honey, don’t be rude.”
Tone of voice.
I smile.
She continues,
“Why do you walk on your tiptoes?”
I improvise, how to tell a 7 year old?
“It’s because my muscles don’t work right.
And I wasn’t really paying attention.
You reminded me though.
So thanks. “
She meekly replies,
“You’re welcome.”
We part with,
Have a great weekend.
Dad keeps thinking,
It is embarrassing,
I can tell,
He is ashamed.
But I am proud of that girl.
She didn’t accept whatever she’d heard.
She sought information,
from a primary source.
And learned,
I am not scary.
Not weird.
I am a nice lady.
