“I like your toenails!”
A unseen voice declares this,
drifting upwards in my direction.
The sound, and message,
shakes me out of my
grocery task list mission,
pulling my harried brain
out of my skull
and into the external world.
I swivel my eyes down.
I spy,
at less than half my height,
a Ramona Quimby-looking girl.
All eager chocolate eyes and
limp, micro-cut brunette fringe.
Maybe five years old,
she stands, legs wide,
fists to waist,
in superhero stance.
She herself dons toe-covering
sparkly bronze-hued Crocs
and a heart and dog-patterned
pajama shirt,
which I read to be
both not hers,
and custom-printed.
After clocking my
interaction instigator,
I conduct a visual sweep
of my toes:
I see two long pale feet
in black Reef thongs.
Atop each greying foam sole,
my set of five long toes sit,
painted in shiny orangey red,
OPI enameled
just for the occasion
of our country’s
two hundred fiftieth birthday.
Upon not too socially awkward
— a pause —
I say:
“Well thank you! I like them too!”
And then I tack on:
“And I like your glittery Crocs!”
Without hesitation,
my new admirer replies:
“I know! They’re great!”
Before she launches into:
“Let me tell you about my pajamas!
“There are red hearts here,”
she points.
“All these photos
are heads of real dogs!
These two are mine!
"And this dog head picture,
that is Lucky!
“And this head here,
well that is Bennett!
“And this dog there,
that’s Grandma’s,
and his name is Romeo!"
I glance up at who I take
to be Grandma.
She carries
in her resting posture
the type of tired
that only comes
from a long day of caretaking
of a curious child.
I smile with my mouth
and send a tacit message
of appreciation and energy to her.
"I hope you have the best day!”
I exclaim, with emphasis,
stooping down to my
new companion’s eye level.
At that, the little shopper
tilts her head back
a degree or two
as if the weight of calculating
whether this, in fact,
is the greatest day
she’ll ever experience,
is maxing the RAM in her mind.
She might need a minute,
it appears.
I twist back to the high shelf
behind me for
the canister of bread crumbs
I’d been reaching for
before receiving
an unexpected compliment
on my pedicure.
I grin at the shelves.
All it takes is an outreach
to break through the mundanity
of a grey rainy day at the market.
