He met me for lunch  a few weeks ago at one of our favorite Mexican buffets. 

"I've never seen your hair fixed quite like that," he says.

This is the man who, when he came to pick me up for a date one time, asked me if I had been eating fried chicken. 

"Chicken?" I asked.

"Your lips, they are kind of greasy." 

A sister might have been a good thing for his family. He had no idea that it was lip gloss giving my lips an imperial glow. 

I told my hairdresser that my husband loved my hair last time she fixed it. He thought those little flippies that she managed to wisp out of my limp locks made me look like I had a "twenties something's do". 

She tried to repeat. 

She sprayed, she teased, she ironed, and she glued my hair with thick goo so that it would hold it's flippy position. 

Result, I looked like the flying nun dressed in habit. Actually, I looked more like a weather vane. Point me in any direction, north, south, east, or west and I would have directed spot on.

When we met for lunch he didn't tease. He didn't despise. He only wondered out loud.

That is his way. Gentle. 

We have come a long way from, "You been eating fried chicken?"

I went to see my hairdresser yesterday. "Just curl it under this  time," I say.

She says, "I really like it flipped out, but we will do what you like."
I picture it. Flying Nun. Weather vane.

"It's okay. Under will be great!" I smile.

"I love your hair!" he says when he sees me. I run by the apartment to give him a hug before I head to work. "You look great!" he smiles. Then he begins to sing to me "Born to be wild . . . do, do, dooooo!" He wiggles a little as he sings.

Our now and our past, they dance with grace.