Friday, June 8, 2012
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.
Posted by Stacey at 7:17 AM