Kim had an appointment for an eye exam last Saturday, and I tagged along. Afterwards, we stopped at the local Bennigan's for a late lunch.
As we waited for our food, we leaned against the padded backrests, sipped our cold drinks, and watched the people outside the window. There were three of them, a man and two women, all middle-aged and all well-fed. I'd describe their apparel as "bikers-go-to-the-mall-wear" -- not full-out Harley gear, but enough accessories to maintain their well-crafted image.
One woman in particular interested me. Her long hair was shoe-polish black, but as she leaned over to put something in the car, the black tresses fell apart and revealed shorter day-glo-red hair underneath. The black hair was one length, the red hair was another. I could understand black hair with red roots or streaks, but this almost looked like the black hair was a wig -- something I couldn't imagine a self-respecting biker chick wearing.
Now, let me clarify that I wasn't staring at these people, merely watching idly through the restaurant's tinted window when I tired of looking at hanging antique bicycles and washboards. If I'd been staring, I wouldn't have been so shocked when the lady with the black and red hair stepped right up to the window and positioned herself exactly between Kim's side of the booth and mine.
She leaned in really close. I thought she must have heard me call Kim's attention to her hair, and I thought maybe she was about to tell me she was going to come in and kick my butt, but then, just as my fight-or-flight juices started to churn, she reached up her arms and began patting her hair into place. We watched with relief as she tidied up her reflected self, then walked away and joined her friends.
If you've read this far, you know that this was kind of a non-event. Still, I thought it was a cautionary tale worth posting. If you're ever tempted to primp in front of a window, just remember, you might not be alone.