“You big, handsome man,” she said the first time I went in to her shop. “You need big breakfast.” She wore a fuzzy pink sweater and a short, very tight black skirt. Her Asian face hid under a too-thick layer of make-up and her lipstick shone fire engine red. Her flirtations were so blatant and so false that they made me uncomfortable.
That was three years ago. Now she looks frumpy, tired, and unhappy.
Her husband (or who we assume is her husband) is a happy, smiling guy who throws in extra donuts and charges less. When he’s not there, if it’s her instead, she charges more and never gives anything away. She no longer flirts, probably because it didn’t increase sales — and that must have hurt her ego.
I was telling my younger daughter about my earlier encounters with this mistress of donuts as we left the shop, and my daughter snorted.
“What was she?” she said. “A donut hoe?”