“I love women from your country.”

“I love women from your country—the color of their eyes—so beautiful!” The man serving me Sheesh Kebab at the food truck confessed.

“Thank you!” I replied, surprised by his friendly demeanor.

“How old are you?” He asked, with a smile.


“Why?” I replied with a bigger smile. Was this a trick to get me to buy another roll?

“You 21?” He asked again.

“NO—I am much older!” I replied, now red in the cheek.

“Can’t be. You look like little girl.”

“30-something!”I said.

“Wow! I am shocked,” he said.

“You are very flattering. But, it’s not me. I get my looks from my mother. And yes, maybe I look like a little girl but my mother is a beautiful woman.”

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

“Back home, far away,” I replied.

“Does she visit you?”

“Yes, sometimes but—”

“How old?”

“She is 57!”

“Good. I am 50. Next time she come here, bring her along.”


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