Well, I'm not sure how romantic it is really, but certainly in that vein. Monday morning, I'm walking from the subway to work, huddled in my coat and hat against the wind, which my dress and tights aren't really helping to keep off of me. As I crossed the street, what politically correct research tells me I should refer to as a "little person" crossed towards me. I may have colorfully used other terms in telling this anecdote throughout the day. But really, I didn't look at him closely enough to know whether he was technically a midget or a dwarf or vertically challenged or a person of restricted growth (that's quite the large term).
As we passed each other, he said to me, "I like your legs," and I gave him the half smile I use to indulge strangers who talk to me in the street. But as I reached the other side, my face took on a much more confused expression. Did that just happen? Did he mean my legs or my tights? Were they just at eye level? Does he think he can say whatever he wants because he has nothing to lose? That was pretty ballsy.
My mom's theory is that by Friday an especially tall man will look down at me and say, "nice hair." Then my week will have some nice symmetry.
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