Old ladies think I’m pretty

Last night I was invited to the opera at the Met with a distant family friend, age 80. At the second intermission, she turned to me and told me that I was pretty. It was completely out of the blue and unrelated to the polite conversation I was trying to make about the lead tenor.

A few weeks ago, I was waiting for traffic to slow so I could jaywalk across 8th Avenue, and a cabbie actually came to a screeching halt to let me walk in front of him.

“It takes a very pretty girl to get a New York driver to do that,” the elderly woman on the other side of the street told me as I stepped up on the curb.

And at Christmas dinner last month, Grandma told me I looked “sexy” in my new sweater.

I’m not sure whether to take these comments as compliments or insults. I mean, many old people can’t see very well anymore.

But the point to this post is this: if I wanted to, I totally could make out with the cast of the Golden Girls.