Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Shit. Sometimes you're walking through the mall minding your own business and the guy at the kiosk that peddles the magical wrinkle eliminating cream does a little jig right in front of you and you pretty much have to stop and chat with him. It's so excruciating to be polite in these situations. He tells me I'm beautiful (Ha! I'm thinking, I got caught in the blizzard overnight and this is yesterday's hair and makeup!!) but asks me if I don't perhaps want to do something about those deep lines. He gestures toward my nasal/labial lines which I do fret over occasionally. He gives me a free sample of hand cream. He holds up jars of two products that I simply must buy and tells me there is a special deal today just for me! The two together retail for over three hundred dollars but if I buy right now, only $199.99!! Just to mess with him I make a counter offer of $150. He regards me slyly and consults the touch screen on his computer. I can't possibly do that, he tells me sadly. I really want this to be over. So I say, okay, if you can correctly guess my age I'll buy both. I smile witheringly as he assesses my face. He frowns. I am going to be brutal, he warns, and says forty-nine. I thank him, tell him I'm fifty-seven, and walk away. He has no idea how lucky he is. If he had said one word about the soft jowly things developing along my jawline he would have been a dead man.
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