Pretty in Pink

Across from me on the bus this morning sat an attractive girl, probably mid-twenties, brown hair, big brown eyes: the picture of summer in head-to-toe pink.

Now as an actor, you’re meant to be an observer of people and what with her directly across from me, and having no reading material, I had no choice but to observe. I noticed her pointy-toed pink shoes, her sparkling earrings, the striped pattern of her skirt and oh – a diamond solitaire engagement ring on her French-manicured hand. Brides-to-be are the only ones who I ever see with a French manicure, and it is July – she must be getting married really soon.

This theory was bolstered when she was rummaging around in her bag. She just held the other hand out, fingers slightly spread, as you would when your nails are drying, or when you haven’t gotten used to your fake nails yet. I concluded the nails were fake.

Except I looked a little closer. Her other hand was out of her bag now – why was one hand darker than the other? I casually removed my copper-tinted shades to get a better look. The nails were fake because she had a prosthetic arm. All the way up to the elbow.

So much for being observant.

But then I thought – I really could see her eyes, her blank yet pleasant expression, the way she was so put together and didn’t need any makeup, the way she carried herself, and maybe she’d just like to know that the arm was the last thing I noticed.