An encounter with the cashier at London Drugs this evening.
“You have beautiful writing,” she commented as I scrawled my name across the credit card receipt (ran out of contact solution).
“Thanks!” I said, “I’m just trying to hold the pen; my hands are so cold.”
“Here, give them to me,” she grabbed my hands and began warming them with her own. I couldn’t help but beam at her.
“I can tell you’re a Mom.”
Her face broke out into a grin. “You betcha!”