Little Wooden Men cont.

“Hello my name is Dorothy.” Like a blink she just appeared at the table.
She stood right next to me and went on.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you. I noticed you eying me as I spotted you.”
She sat in the seat across from me, getting her dress just right.
There were salt granules loose all over the tabletop. A condiment
Container with ketchup was lying on its side, spilled in front of her.
“Are you a little pig or you just have a nervous tick?”
She grinned like Mona Lisa, a crooked, strange kind of a smile.
“What do you mean?” I quickly returned. I was shocked.
“The mess.”
“It was this way. I just got here a few minutes ago.”
“I know.” She stood up and began to speak rather loudly.
“Can we get a table cleaner here please! ”
Not a yell, more like a polite demand.
“Please!” She took her seat again, getting her dress just right.
“Are you married?” she inquired like a detective.
I didn’t answer. It was none of her business.
“You are pretty blunt….was it Dorothy?”
“On occasion.”
“Blunt or Dorothy?”
“Both.”
“Your name is Dorothy? Right?”
“It depends on what manifestation I am at the time.”
“Alright.” I was already mentally exhausted. She turned from me and
waved at a woman who came through the entrance of the café.
Her manner was so forward, so I decided to be too. We all know the old saying, never ask a lady her age. I decided to ignore it.

“How old are you?” I investigated, trying not to sound like an FBI agent.
Showing no intense or negative reaction she responded quite gracefully.
“Right down to it. Why?”
“Being that you come on so strong, I’ll just come out with it.”
I was nervous.