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The other day, I was in a coffee shop drinking my water, minding my business. And by the other day, I mean pre-pandemic, and by water, I mean coffee. 

In came an elderly lady who sat next to me. We exchanged pleasantries, and by pleasantries, I mean a nod and a smile. 

She, too, was drinking her water. Although, I'm not sure she was minding her business because, from my peripheral vision, I could see her staring at me—rather intently. 

After what felt like an eternity, and by eternity I mean one sip of her water, she finally said, "Wow, you have beautiful skin!" I smiled, a bit uneasy and deflected by saying, "Yes, it's the weather, doing me all levels of justice!" And my urge to over-explain was brewing; I mean ready to bubble over. She looked at me, and in a matter-of-fact tone that only comes with an elderly badge of honour, she said, "Oh, hush, could you just take the compliment?" 

Feeling a little shame, I said coyly, "Yes, ma'am, thank you!" and we continued to chat briefly. As she left, I could no longer focus on my reason for being there. I had an overwhelming urge to dig deeper. "Why did her compliment make me uncomfortable?"