She's standing in a grocery store check out lane, fit, slight of frame, with orange-red hair, obviously dyed. A short cut, just shy of spiky. No product in it today to hold the spikes, but it's early. A Sunday morning, quick trip to the grocery. The product will probably go in for the next trip out, after the coffee, I imagine .
She wears jeans with a darkish wash, slightly distressed. Tight. No winter wool coat, just a gray hoodie with a pattern. I can't see the logo, but it looks like it could be American Eagle. Ugg boots. Trendy glasses with wide stems. Mid to upper sixties is my guess. Although she could pass for a teen from the back. Or a distance.
She looks a little silly. A grown woman dressing down. A reversal of the little girl wobbling in her mom's high heels.
I think about her all the way home. Who's telling her that she looks better when dressed in the style of the memories of her younger years?
It seems prime for a blog post. A class of women dressing like their daughters. "Where have all the grandmothers gone?" I think. A perfect title.
I sit down at my computer. A framed picture of my grandson to my left. My reflection in the glass.
Slight of frame, fairly fit, with blonde highlights in my brown hair, obviously dyed. Longish hair, growing out, usually worn straight, parted in the middle a la Peggy Lipton. The gray streaks at the temples touched up regularly. The side swept bangs in need of a trim every few weeks.
Hair pulled back in a high pony tail today. Wearing low ride jeans with some planned fading in strategic spots. Tight. A long sleeve t-shirt from Gap. There is a hoodie on the back of my chair, probably Gap. A down parka hangs on the coat rack. Ugg boots in the closet. I take off my new glasses with the thin black frames that looked good in the picture of the model in Glamour magazine, but don't work so well for no line bifocals.
I find I have nothing to write.
I grab a cardigan. And think about baking cookies. But surf the web instead.