Wednesday, July 1, 2015


I was squinting at the eye pencil display in Sephora when she sidled up to me. 

Close to 60, her graying hair pulled back in a neat low ponytail, she appeared to be Hispanic. She introduced herself as of being of an American Indian tribe, rattling off her lineage. 

"I can see that you are a young woman, but you have an old soul." 

I was stunned. 

"Your colors are red, green, and gold." 

My jaw gaped. 

Score one for the first, slam-dunk on the second. I'm such a boring plodder that people who are thirty years my senior think I should have more fun. My favorite colors are red and green—I had actually been wearing red shoes—but no sign of green at all. Plus I love yellow gold; I think it is a much more flattering compliment to the bilious undertones of my skin, as opposed to silver shades. 

Satisfied that her darts hit their target, she continued: "Have you ever had a psychic reading?"

Ah. "Thank you, but my religion doesn't allow it," I replied as politely as I could. 

"I respect that," she said, then vanished. Probably to find a new mark. 

Familiarity with Sherlock Holmes and the basic method of con-men, I know that it is possible for some to observe someone and make correct conclusions, Ouija board aside.

But I still wonder . . .

1 comment:

tel aviv said...

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