Perfect!

I do not know her, but she has
made it her business to know
what I am about. Slender, dark,
vivaciously appealing, her Latin
origins obvious. She is young and
doubtless tempestuous. This much
I glean from observing her.

She is, truth to tell, difficult to
overlook. All the more so as she
has parked herself rather
conspicuously before my shopping
cart, perusing my selections, and,
with a wide smile, approving.

In particular, the long velvet
flounced skirt, modestly priced,
that I plan to wear only within the
confines of my home, for warmth
and attractive coverage this winter
approaching. It is a garment, alas,
far too flamboyant for my years.

"Perfect!" she enthuses, lauding
my taste. Perfect for her. Dark eyes
flashing mischief, verbosely
accented, she avows her happiness
because she is shopping, however
frugally, at the local Sally Ann.

When I'm sad, she says, I come
here, and I shop. And I feel better, I
feel happy. We are, after all, we
agree, despite heritage and birth
and the yawning distance of years,
she with glossy curling tresses, me,
grey, wrinkled - we are sisters.