“You look like you’re happily married,” says the random dude that passes her in the shopping aisle.
Her wedding ring wasn’t readily seen. Yet something in her demeanor, on her face, in her walk, that may have hinted at a woman in throes of marital bliss.
Did she send out some hormonally-laced message that intimated of a sexually, emotionally and intellectually satisfied woman? Was her casual glance his way empty and vague? As if to say “You don’t hold a lamp to my man.” Did he sniff a hint of pleasured domesticity as she carefully chooses 500 count thread sheets or that Egyptian cotton brand towel her man preferred to use?
Could he possibly know that she was a woman who enjoyed making her house a home for her family?
She will never know. The only words she throws his way are, “I sure am HAPPILY MARRIED.” Moving on.