Glossy, thick as a textbook, the cover model swathed in white taffeta.
It had an almost hypnotic effect on me. I flipped through pages of iridescent confectionary masterpieces, sparkling hands holding fragile lilies and silhouettes wading in in the surf at sunset.
“Excuse me, can I get by?” she asked.
The woman who spoke to me gestured at my shopping cart blocking the aisle. She noticed what I was reading and smirked to herself.
She didn’t congratulate me or ask if I’d set a date. She looked at me, an over thirty Botox aficionado with a naked ring finger and judged for herself.
“Who do you think you’re kidding?” she seemed to be saying. “Women like you die alone.”
I flushed and hastily put it back, as ashamed as if I‘d been caught looking at porn. LS