A few months ago, I told Jan that there was this girl who works at our local grocery store who I thought was checking me out from afar. She’s about my age, kinda short, with dark hair and a couple prominent piercings. Maybe she was checking me out, maybe she wasn’t. For all I know, she may have never even noticed my existence. We chalked it up to my incessant narcissistic delusions of grandeur. It still made me feel a little uncomfortable so I sometimes make it a habit to avoid her path. Today at the supermarket I instinctively hopped onto the shortest cashier line and found myself face to face with what’s-her-face at the register. We both froze for a moment, politely smiled at each other, and then she looked me in the eyes and grinned, “So… you’re not blond anymore.” I knew it!