"Hi, my name is Kelli."
"Hi Kelli, my name is Kristen. Nice to meet you."
He averted his eyes and looked instead at my left arm area.
His shaky right hand extends again but with the index finger a little farther out than all the others. He points to my right arm, so I instinctively look there. Nothing. I pretend to gather my belongings to head to the service.
"You have a sales tag hanging from your sweater."
"You have a sales tag hanging under your arm."
I reached down and there it was. A big one. Of Course. My grandmother-in-law bought that sweater for me over a year ago and it has sat in my closet, just waiting to be worn, until this day. When you see something in your closet day after day and pass it over, it doesn't occur to you that when it is finally chosen that there MIGHT be a price tag on it. It's inconceivable.
During the class I had raised my arm to answer a question and draped it casually over the empty chair next to me. I probably waved at someone in the parking lot. "Hi. I'm the girl that got this on sale."