Going Commando

I'm not sure if I saw her first,
or if she initially noticed me.
I purposely tried to avoid making eye-contact, because today was different.
Today, I'd gone "Commando".
No, not like Joey Tribbiani, but sans all protective head gear: hair, scarves, caps or hats.
In a word, B-A-L-D.

On my list of errands to run:
the Post Exchange, post office and commissary (grocery store).

The few eyes that met mine, were mixed.
Some were open and welcoming,
smiling eyes.
Some were unable or unwilling to make the connection.

I'd nearly finished shopping when I spotted her again.
Apparently, she saw me too because she'd stopped pushing her cart to speak.
I smiled politely and tried to maneuver to her right.

Her graying hair was slightly longer than mine.

Could she be? I wondered.
She smiled warmly. "Whenever I see a woman with really short hair like yours and mine," she paused, to reposition. "I want to give her a hug."

And just like that, we stood embracing, between the turkey and the cured ham.