The guy that delivered the paper today had a thick middle eastern accent and looked just below 50. His eyes were tired but he smiled at me. I'm in a red beanie, skull blouse, grey cardigan, red slacks and black knee high boots. I'm hardly the portrait of femininity. He brings in the paper cases one by one and denies my help.
"This my job." He says. "You sit and do your job. Stay warm, miss."
After he brings in the last case, he reaches in his coat pocket to pull out the electronic signature device. I roll up my sleeves and sign on the line. He thanks me.
When he looks down, he sees my inked anchor and text on my forearm peaking below my sweater and smiles. He rolls up his own sleeves to reveal his own artwork. He rubs his finger on my anchor like a little kid would and says excitedly.
"You! You like me!"
I smile. When he leaves the office he tips his hat and I wave.
I'm happy to be like a man like that.
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