I Used to Be Better Looking

by Walter Penrose

I used to be better looking, or so I tell myself, when mirrors and lighting are cruel. There was a time when babies smiled just from seeing my face. Now, baristas call me “Sir,” and the only women who flirt with me are compensated. I’ve learned how to find the loneliest person in any scene, sit beside them, and make them laugh. I’ve learned that charm is like soup; it gets better if you let it simmer. And I’ve come to understand that beauty always fades, but kindness, when practiced enough, gets perfected.

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Walter Penrose is teaching his granddaughter the fine art of making superb grilled cheese sandwiches.