I arrived at the gym last night for my swim, and as I opened the door to enter, the gal behind the desk looked up from her conversation with her co-worker and exclaimed, “I love how you always come in and have such a big smile. It’s SO nice.”
I didn’t say anything, but answered by smiling again and laughed a little.
She said, “No, really. I mean, so many people come in and they’re all grumpy and mad, but you always come in with a smile. It’s nice.”
What I didn’t tell her is, first and foremost I’m there to do something I love — swim — but more than that, I wear a ratty old Jeezus-blue bathrobe to and from the gym. They say if you wear a bathrobe in public, you’re either incredibly rich or you’ve escaped from an insane asylum. I know I’m not rich, so I simply hope that my smile distracts from my ridiculousness.
Apparently, it does.