Then I moved back to the U.S. and suddenly the last year of physical appearance neglect was glaringly obvious. Turns out, that one grey hair was actually about about 15 grey hairs. My clothes were all outdated, stained, and ridden with holes. I have split ends, sunspots, dry skin, crows feet, and a good bit of stubborn baby weight. Aging, you are a jerk.
I'm working on it. My physical appearance ranks about 11th on my priority list, but I'm working on it.
So this morning, Mylie and I made a Starbucks run. Our barista was "Evan". He had shoulder length hair, a requisite slouchy beanie, and a dimple. It was like a professional snowboarder and abercrombie model mated and had an even more attractive love child. The problem with my encounter was the fact that he flirted with me in the same manner that a college kid might flirt with an eighty year old lady. I know what that looks like because my brother Michael is a master at it, and was always a favorite with my grandma and all her friends at the old folks home. After I purchased my non-fat hot chocolate and new mug, he asked if I wanted a receipt in case something happened and I needed to return the mug. I told him no thanks, and then he said, "Oh, living on the edge, I like it." The pity flirt. Trying to make the old gal feel cool. I get it. It would have been sweet, had I not realized what he was doing and actually felt insulted. Seriously.