henry
still speeding
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2005
- Messages
- 3,794
I was hanging with my 3-year-old daughter in a coffee shop yesterday afternoon - in line waiting to get served at the counter. I was vaguely aware that the person behind us was an old-ish woman. At one point I picked up my daughter and held her in my arms so her face was over my right shoulder, and hence looking at the woman behind us in queue.
It was a Caffe Nero so we waited about 12 or 15 minutes to get served, you know what its like...
After a while of holding my daughter this way she suddenly reacted as she does sometimes when something scares her, she clung a little tighter on to me and turned her head right round to face past me the other way.
I turned to the woman behind me in line, assuming that maybe she had done something or otherwise spooked my little one, or maybe attempted to engage with her or something, as people will sometimes do when a 3-year-old is in the arms of the next person in line.
It was only then that I checked the old woman out properly. She seemed to be in her early 60s, with a faded pink padded housecoat-style coat. Her hair was ginger and wispy and her pink skin very pale. I gave her a quick smile but as I did so I started to see that her hair seemed to be attached to the sides of her head rather than growing naturally... Her face seemed caked in make-up... Above all else, something about her didnt seem old at all.
In response to my smile she said words to the effect that my daughter looks just like me (which cannot be denied, but somehow it works for us both). Her voice had a creaky cracked quality that just seemed too contrived. Daughter #1 was decidely staring in the other direction and remained that way until after we had been served and were sat with our coffee. During that time I checked out the "old womans" shoes - authentic-looking old flats - and she had on thick white socks/winter tights.
There was nothing slovenly about her, although she was dressed pretty down-at-heel and I think this is what sealed it for me. It looked like she had just come from hair-and-makeup as a soap extra, or something similar. Which I guess she could have.
I lost track of her when we sat down and my little one, as sensitive observant and articulate as she is, oh I could go on, refused to be drawn on the matter.
It was a Caffe Nero so we waited about 12 or 15 minutes to get served, you know what its like...
After a while of holding my daughter this way she suddenly reacted as she does sometimes when something scares her, she clung a little tighter on to me and turned her head right round to face past me the other way.
I turned to the woman behind me in line, assuming that maybe she had done something or otherwise spooked my little one, or maybe attempted to engage with her or something, as people will sometimes do when a 3-year-old is in the arms of the next person in line.
It was only then that I checked the old woman out properly. She seemed to be in her early 60s, with a faded pink padded housecoat-style coat. Her hair was ginger and wispy and her pink skin very pale. I gave her a quick smile but as I did so I started to see that her hair seemed to be attached to the sides of her head rather than growing naturally... Her face seemed caked in make-up... Above all else, something about her didnt seem old at all.
In response to my smile she said words to the effect that my daughter looks just like me (which cannot be denied, but somehow it works for us both). Her voice had a creaky cracked quality that just seemed too contrived. Daughter #1 was decidely staring in the other direction and remained that way until after we had been served and were sat with our coffee. During that time I checked out the "old womans" shoes - authentic-looking old flats - and she had on thick white socks/winter tights.
There was nothing slovenly about her, although she was dressed pretty down-at-heel and I think this is what sealed it for me. It looked like she had just come from hair-and-makeup as a soap extra, or something similar. Which I guess she could have.
I lost track of her when we sat down and my little one, as sensitive observant and articulate as she is, oh I could go on, refused to be drawn on the matter.