“Hey, where did you get those pants?!”

It’s a simple thing to ask.

A passing comment in the parking lot of a small-town pharmacy.

But I didn’t just wave and smile. I stopped, turned toward the voice, and laughed.

“Yeah, they’re pretty great. If you search Amazon for Bohemian Palazzo pants, they should come up.”

And I could have walked away then. Interaction complete. But instead we had a little banter about fancy pants and self-expression and wearing whatever the hell we want.

Then I wandered the aisles waiting for a prescription refill and heard her voice again. Kind. A little spicy.

The details aren’t as important as what they led to.

Today I spent an hour and a half having lunch with an 84-year-old widow at one of the historic steakhouses in town.

I read a story she wrote about a mischievous monkey she had as a child and all the trouble he got into. I listened to stories about how she met her husband, what brought them here, and what life has been like without him these last three years.

I read old newspaper clippings from her childhood. I laughed at her stories and shared a few of my own.

And when lunch was over, she invited me to her home, where we kept talking and flipping through photo albums and scrapbooks—and where I met this sweet thing: her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

She used to show, breed, and train champion racehorses. She never had children of her own.

I saw every photo on every wall and heard the name of every important person in her life. She read me a poem she wrote for her older sister when she got married and left for her honeymoon, leaving her behind to figure out her own life.

We laughed. We cried.

She walked me through horse bloodlines and championship titles I know absolutely nothing about while this sweet pup snorted in my ear and cuddled into my side.

My dad couldn’t go anywhere without stopping to visit and get to know people. My mom always told me to “drive fast and talk to people you don’t know.”

And as I step into what will probably become one of those friendships I tell my kids about for years, I realize they both gave me a gift: the ability to notice those little social cues that open doors into people’s lives.

She liked my pants.

But this isn’t really about pants.

Before I left, we hugged. She told me she always has hot coffee going and cookies in the fridge, and that she absolutely MUST meet my children—and of course, the dogs.

Today I met a sweet dog and spent hours with the person who loves him.

If you haven’t talked to a stranger in a while, I hope you take a deep breath and go for it.