I Know What You’re Thinking.

She sees me looking at her.   Her eyes dart to the tiny, single-serve boxes of  milk on the top shelf!  I know exactly what’s she’s thinking.  Green cat eyes.  She turns from me and stretches from the very upper reaches of the dairy case to grab the coldest, the freshest, the most perfect container at the very back of the line, all the time her tight skirt hiking closer and closer to that tender split infinitive protected by only the thinnest gossamer layer of cotton panty.