It was a normal busy Saturday morning at the gym, until she walked in.
Dressed to the nines in baby pink.
Pink velore tracksuit.
Pink running shoes.
Pink washout hair.
Dark pink nails.
Amber pink wraparound shades.
And a white handbag, the word “PINK” set in glimmering fuschia sequins across the front.
She trotted up to the treadmill in front of me and hopped on. It was clear she was no rookie.
They say it’s bad manners to talk about a woman’s age, but I’m no gentleman.
Lady Pink wasn’t a day under 75; probably several hundred over.
After 20 minutes or so, she stopped the machine, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and trotted off to another area of the gym.
I hope I have that much swag when I’m 80.
Lady Pink of LA.
Keep on rocking.