Voice

Yesterday two men visited my house.  I'm going to replace one of my windows and they gave me some bids.  Why could I only thing the whole time of Elizabeth Smart and how her abduction was a result of a man working on her house?  I'm paranoid, that's why.

At any rate, the second man was my favorite.  He was a true salesman, finding any way to connect with me.  One of his methods was the compliment.  When I was younger, I still remember a woman in church complimenting my nose.  I remember where we were walking.  I don't remember who it was that complimented me.

I do appreciate when people give me rare compliments.  I always hear how nice it is for me to be skinny or tall and along the same line of thinking, what long legs I have.  But this man complimented my voice.  He scrolled through a few words until he landed on the one that described it . . . sultry (the cleaner of the two definitions offered by dictionary.com was "displaying or suggesting passion")  I immediately felt awkward until he explained that, no, he wasn't making a pass at me.  Okay, I still felt awkward and rambled on about how I realized that I had a deep voice when I could only sing songs while I played my guitar by people like Tracy Chapman.  I ended with . . . it's no wonder that the man from another window company called me Mr. Freeman, then. 

Summer has begun . . . I am no longer ignoring the possibility of writing a meaningless entry on my blog.