Way back in December, 1975, I went shopping with my then-gal pal, Donna Larimer. (I have made plenty of mistakes in my life; refraining from marrying her was not one of them) We stopped by one store's jewelry counter, and I noticed that the woman behind the counter happened to be an extraordinarily tall lady. I'm slightly under 6'3', and this gal was way taller than I was, maybe 6'6' or something like that. Anyhow, as Donna walked around the jewelry counter (probably looking for the wedding band she wanted me to get for her), she came to the spot where sales people would step through to get behind the counter, looked down, did a doubletake, and gasped, 'You're not standing on top of anything!' No, indeed she wasn't.
I think I said something nice like, gee, it must be nice to be universally admired, I mean, just about everybody looks up to you, ma'am. (I did get her to smile) Anyhow, the three of us had a nice chat for a few minutes. And then Donna and I shopped and shopped and shopped and shopped, and finally Donna says, 'Gee, what do we do now?' And I said, 'Well, we could go back and chat with Ms. Leg' For about the next minute, I caught hell. As in WHO did I think I was, and WHY did I have to act like such a jerk, and HOW could I be so insensitive, and WHAT was I thinking of, and WHERE do I get off saying something like that, and WHEN was I going to get some manners...et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. When Donna stopped long enough for me to get a word in edgewises, I said, 'Donna, did happen to notice that that lady was wearing a nametag?' 'No' 'Well, she was. And guess what her nametag said?' Yep, it was Ms. Leg. (Actually I think it was with two 'G's.)