“The real thing”

—“I hafta say something,” I said to a lady with long flowing silver hair.
We were in my supermarket.
She turned toward me, our eyes met, and “the real thing,” I said, pointing to her hair.
Now what did I just do here, readers? (“Get ready with that there remote Luke!”)
I inferred she was attractive, that her hair attracted me.
And I didn't get smacked.
“Prematurely gray,” she said. “Started going gray in my 20s.”
Conversation started: Here we go!
“That means I may be older than you,” I said. “I’m 77.”
“Well I’m 61,” she said.
My aquacise-instructor came to mind. She’s also 61, but I think she dyes her hair.
“My baby-sister is going gray, and she treats that like a mantra.
“Going gray is the coming thing,” she says.
“And she doesn’t like ‘baby-sister’ either, but we’re 17 years apart. I’m first and she’s last. I brought her home from the hospital; my mother too.”
On and on we went: “Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada!”
Everyone loves talking; especially women.
So say something to her: “he’s talking to me! Yippee!”
I hoped we’d meet again later. But we didn’t.
I woulda said “Boy am I glad I said something to you. I usually keep to myself.”
I bet she goes home and tells her husband.
(“Some aging geezer tried to get friendly with me!”)