“Are these handsome young men your grandsons?” The tall sixtyish gentleman in Dunkin’ Donuts spoke in a familiar tone, as if he was someone I knew but hadn’t seen in a while.

“Uh, yes, they are,” I answered politely, studying the man’s face.  I didn’t recognize him.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I’d picked up Sammy and Charlie from school for an afternoon Grandma visit. A visit that began with a trip to Dunkin’ Donuts.

The man, alone, lingered by our table. “I bring my great-nephews here sometimes.  They’re fine fellows.  Of course, we all think our young ones are great, don’t we?”

“Uh, yes, we do,” I said, not making eye contact this time.

He moved on then, bare feet in Tevas on this freezing January day.

“Grandma, who was that?” ten-year-old Sammy asked as the door swung shut behind our visitor.

“I have no idea,” I answered.

“He creeped me out,” Sammy said. “And did you see he had on sandals?”

“He could’ve shot us,” chimed in six-year-old Charlie, who’s all about stranger-danger. “But if I had my bow, I could shoot him right back.”

“I hardly think anyone’s going to shoot us in Dunkin’ Donuts right across from a Harris Teeter in what is probably the safest part of town,” I said. “He was just someone trying to be friendly.”

Or was he flirting? Is “Are these handsome young men your grandsons” a geezer pick-up line?

Nahh.   I’d have heard something like, “You’re far too young for these handsome young men to be your grandsons.”  Or even better, “Are you the mother of these two handsome young men?”  He pegged me for what I am, the grandma, and the compliment was for the boys.

Nope, he wasn’t flirting. Just some old dude passing by our table, making small talk on a Friday afternoon in Dunkin’ Donuts.  I think….