If you are unaware, The Hollywoods are an elderly couple that frequent my favorite coffee shop. They fascinate me. I imagine them as post-Rat Pack survivors with shag carpeting and swag lamps and a rumpus room. When Mrs. Hollywood appears wearing her '60s Pucci-print jumpsuit and 5" Lucite heels (she is in her 70s, at least), my day is made. I so want to know their backstory, but cannot bring myself to ask anyone. There's something to their mystery that I guess I like.

Mr. Hollywood, a similarly-natty gent, has spoken with me briefly before, always about my kids. He really likes kids, it seems, and I bet would be a lovely and indulgent grandfather. But Mrs. Hollywood more often than not has given me the dead-eye stare down, unsmiling and serious at all times. But TODAY as I was waiting at the counter for my coffee, she brought over the empty bar creamer to bring to the barista's attention, then turned her head to me...and SPOKE:

Mrs. Hollywood: (smiling) How are YOU today?

Me: (slightly stunned) ...Fine, thank you...and yourself?

Mrs. H: Oh, very well... (eyeing my coffee just set on the bar)...ooh, that looks very good, what is that?

Me: It's a mocha. I don't have flavored coffees very much. It's an indulgence today.

Mrs. H: Well, enjoy it!

Me: Thank you! Have a good rest of the afternoon!

I walked off to get the lid for my drink, probably giddily smiling to myself over this perfectly polite and completely unexpected conversation. Her skin was really good. Her shirt had glitter on it. I've never once in these years seen her speak to or acknowledge anyone in the coffee shop outside of the staff and Mr. Hollywood.