I live for these moments. Wanting to give him an honest answer, I focused. He looked like a mild-mannered, kindly father. “Yes.”
When he pointed to his nose, I leaned closer, squinting. There was a pretty nasty slice across it that had been expertly covered with make-up. “Oh. It’s hardly noticeable.”
“Good. I have a really important presentation to make.”
“I don’t think anybody will notice.”
Of course now that he’d pointed it out, I was not entirely sure that was true. I was starting to think about the really good Bare Mineral’s Bisque I had in my carry-on bag. Would it be too strange for me to fix this guy’s make-up?
“So my son got a puppy. An 85-pound Bull Mastiff.”
I love my life. I love that I have a face that says, “Tell me more.”
“And I put a dog biscuit in my mouth.” He reenacts this for me as he speaks. I’m beside myself with joy. “And then I did this.” The guy pats his chest.
I drop my bags on the floor when I bend over laughing. I love my life. The shuttle has arrived by the time I collect myself and my belongings, and am upright again. We’re walking to the shuttle and he looks faintly wounded by my reaction.
“So you have that kind of a sense of humor?”
Really? I wonder what kind of reaction he usually got with this story. I drag my bags onto the Knight Bus unabashed; he might as well know what happens when you talk to strangers, right?
“I’m a writer, and I’m going to use that story.”
“Well. Go right ahead. I give it to you.”
“You should use it too, when you give the presentation. Just in case they notice your nose. It’s pretty good.”
“I’m going to,” he assured me. “I have a picture of the puppy in my slides. I sell organic eggs, blue ones.”
Are you kidding me? He is the Egg Man, goo goo g’joob! I LOVE my life, and I’m starting to love airports.