I was in the grocery store today, standing at the deli counter, when I notice a nice, elderly gentleman standing off to my right, smiling at me. I smiled back and gave a little head-nod his way. He's about 82 years old, with a crisp white button down shirt, two pens in the front pocket and creased, grey trousers. Moments later, he's shuffling in my general direction, clasping his pint of potato salad in both hands. I cast around briefly, figuring perhaps I'm impeding his quest for Kaiser Rolls when it dawns on me that he intends to talk to me.
Still smiling, he says, "I saw you as you walked over here to get your deli ticket, then you walked back to the vegetables, then back here again. And I must say, although you've probably heard it a lot of times, you have quite a nice pair of legs." Oh, thank you...wait, WHAT? I laughed. What else can I do? My legs are being assessed by Mr. Magoo. Okay, it was kinda nice to hear...weird, but nice to hear anyhow.
P.S. I haven't heard that since 1986, when Mike Sherman in my High School used to call me Legs.