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She presents herself so tastefully she might as well be running a five-star restaurant in Boston rather than a charming small town pizza store on the North Shore.
Sometimes her handsome twins work for a few months and the whole family seems to move as one unit, the energy of the young and old perfectly combined, each respectful of one another, all hard working.
He smelled of Old Spice and cigars, and there was that certain “something” in the twinkle of his blue eyes as he watched me pass that made me hold my head a little higher, as if I were Katharine Hepburn in a ‘40s film, gliding past, commanding his attention, worthy of his respect.
I found his gaze refreshingly free of the salacity and careless disregard that so often taints male-female interactions.
And here I was, sitting in my cold car unwilling to leave until I’d watched the entire scene play out, amazed at how a man can love a woman old-school style.
♦◊♦ Anthony reminds me of my dear friend Leon who is 97.
♦◊♦ Later that night, as I left CVS, I noticed the Italian husband and wife team, Anthony and Josephine, who run one of our town’s best pizza places.
He waited patiently as she climbed in, tucking in the tails of her coat, then firmly shut the door.
Satisfied, he ran around to the other side, his breath puffing in the air, threw his bags into the back seat, and got in. At least three decades I’d imagine, judging by the ages of their sons, and yet Anthony still deferred to his wife, running around to help her in the cold, treating her like the best thing that ever happened to him—a woman of worth.