The beet lady

One stop after me, the classiest woman with godly poise and glamor enters the bus. She is in her 50's, cute and spunky blond hair, beatiful blue eyes and an extremely warm smile. Every girl on the bus should master her course on self-presentation. Her black and white dress was elegant and yet flighty, like the graceful swoop of a falcon in flight.

She's got a 40 year old pious friend who sits near me depending on the configuration of the bus. (I always like the sideways facing seats. He always likes the back. On some buses our venn diagrams overlap). Through their conversations I learned that she married (or had a child that was) an olympic athlete.

Yesterday she carryied a bag of 10 beets. Plastic handles stretched from the weight. Red t-h-a-n-k-y-o-u letters distorted as only beets can do. A fresh accompiament to what is sure to be a dilicious meal.

As I exited the bus I wondered:
(A) what she looked like back when she was my age. Has she always been so beautiful? Or did she emerge from a cocoon of frumpy XL t-shirts when her little birds left the nest.
(B) what she and her husband look like going out. Simply having her on his arm makes him the best dressed man at the ball.