A look is sometimes the loudest form of communication

This month, our school is responsible for decorating the school district's boardroom.  So my principal asked me to take care of it, as I am the art lady at our school.  I was a little concerned as our program doesn't start for another month, and was worried about how much kid-artwork I could get from the teachers in time, but I didn't sweat it.

Until I saw the size of the boardroom.  The wall we are responsible for is....enormous.

I totally panicked, and sent out an email essentially begging for something, anything, to fill up the wall.  Fortunately, a bunch of the teachers came through, and last week, I went to put it up.

I was meeting one of the Art Masterpiece coordinators for the district, and I took Audrey along with me.  The lady had not seen her for some time, and was amazed at how big she'd grown in the interrim (she last saw her about gosh, about 1 yr, 1 yr and 1/2 ago).

"She's so cute.  Honey, I love your skirt,"  she said to Audrey.  Audrey smiled.

"I love her haircut,"  she commented.  We started to get stuff moved around, and she commented on Audrey's appearance a couple more times.  "Really, I love her hair.  It suits her."  I nodded.  "Thanks.  I think so, too."

She swept her gaze towards me, and looked over my own hair, which was up in a disheveled ponytail.  She had that look, like she wanted to pay me a compliment too, but was at a loss.  (I didn't get dolled up for this; I knew it would entail a lot of bending and stretching and climbing up and down off of whatever to mount this stuff on the walls.  I was wearing jeans and a baseball shirt, minimal makeup--not exactly my finest hour, but presentable enough.)  It was really comical to me, I could see her formulating the thought in her head and coming up blank.  She did one of those, 'uhm, yeah' kind of head movements and we went back to work. 

I should say that this lady is always turned out, every time I see her, she is very well dressed and groomed and polished.  Even this day, a potentially sweaty physical day--she had on a cute pair of jean/capris, the kind with the huge cuff, a really pretty just-above-casual top, and these totally cool slides.  Perfect nails (hands and feet); nice hair, nice makeup.  I wanted to go home and change when I saw her, you know?

She was a godsend, too, that room was a lot of work, and I never would have gotten through it without her help.

So I giggled and didn't take it too personally that I know she thought I was a total frump.  I resisted the urge to say, "I clean up good.  Really.  I swear!" especially since  I was busy all morning, had to go to the elementary school early, and didn't uhm, have a chance to take a shower.  Oh, the shame.

Besides, it was easier to not take it personally in light of the fact that earlier in the week, on my way to work, I'd stopped at Starbucks. 

The barista took my order, and I paid, and I was looking at the menu board behind her, off to the side.  I turned to look back at her, I had a question, and she was staring at me.  Totally.  At my mouth.  Like she was wondering about...kissing me?  

It was kinda cool, but I was a little embarrassed; I mean, I totally blushed.  

I heard my name called, got my coffee, and left without asking my question.

I don't remember what the question was, but the look on my husband's face when I told him the story was unforgettable.

And the lipgloss hasn't left my purse.