I'm a strong believer in good oral hygiene and make regular visits to the dentist. My dentist is very nice, and one of the receptionists at the dental office gets all starry-eyed at the sight of me because she thinks I'm a famous artist... which of course I am!
Although most of my visits to the dentist are quite pleasant, in a practical sort of way, last November I had to have a routine procedure done which filled me with what turned out to be misplaced approbation. Consequently, I was in a rotten mood as I hopped off the train and headed down the street to my appointment. To make matters worse, my parka-covered head got pelted with icy rain at such intense volume, moisture dripped off my faux-wolf-fur hood and into my face, thus spoiling my age-defiant makeup. I bent forward, thrust my hands into my pockets, and kept my eyes on the pavement as I shuffled along.
The street leading to my dentist's office is busy, urban, and lined with edgy entrepreneurs. Usually I love the camaraderie, since I too have been an entrepreneur on that street (selling my paintings, obviously), but my thoughts that day were tinged with dread of mortality: I desired to talk to no one.
Suddenly a man's voice called out, "Oh Miss! Excuse me, Miss?"
I ignored him, trying my best to look like an ancient crone from a fairy tale, the sort of person who boils dragon toenails in pond slime and feeds the broth to her pet hydra.
He walked beside me."Excuse me? Miss?"
I waved him away without looking at him.
He persisted."Why are you waving me away?"
I raised my eyes heavenward and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I don't feel like talking right now!" Startled by my own behavior, I watched my words echoing around the tops of the buildings.
"Sorry to bother you." The man's apology plopped onto the pavement like a scoop of ice cream which had fallen out of a small child's cone. "It's just that..."
I sternly looked him straight in the face, accidentally noticing he was young and meltingly handsome. "It's just that what?"
"It's just that you dropped your mitten." He held up a bright pink cocoon of knitted wool.
"That's not my mitten," I said, softening my voice.
"Oh, sorry. I thought it was yours because it matches your scarf."
"That's okay." I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
"Have a nice day," I said.
As I walked away, I noticed the air was suddenly infused with a beautiful, rose-colored light...which happened to be the same exact hue as somebody's lost mitten.