She was staring at me directly, you know—with that uninhibited full on gaze that only curious children seem to use. "Funny," I thought to myself, "How is it that a little, blue haired, bun-sporting granny finds you this interesting?"
But was it interest? She wasn't smiling. That spot between my shoulderblades began to crinkle all the way up to the base of my neck. This was uncomfortable. She was silent, and only nodded when I asked her about her day and her shopping.
"That will be $24.99" I finally said, placing her bagged merchandice on the counter.
"Young man, why do you shave your head?"
"...umm...shave my head? Well, frankly I was loosing my hair and I was tired of looking ten years older than I really was, so I shaved it. It's worked out well so far."
"Well you shouldn't. It looks terrible."
For the record ma'am, anyone wearing a pleated, floral print jumper with a massive bun in her hair really shouldn't be throwing "fashion" advice. I suddenly realized I would have enjoyed the encounter much more had I said "Because it makes me so dang SEXY!!!" and given her a wink.