The blonde stepped through the door as I approached it. She seemed briefly at a loss for words to see me. (Don't know why, it's my usual place.) By reflex, she tossed out a standard opener.

"Omigod, Frank." Not in a shocked way, or even relating to me in particular, but just a general expression of amazement at the wonder of this planet we all share.

I raised my eyes from my reflexive look at her cleavage, hoping I'd judged the timing right. Quick enough to seem gentlemanly and respectful, slow enough to seem aware and appreciative.

I hope the grin spreading across my face was correctly interpreted. It was just so awesome to be surprised just then by that particular inflection, that particular viewpoint, that particular view. So familiar, in that particular place, but somehow charmingly different.

"You sound just like your daughter."

Perhaps I'd mistimed it, or that wasn't what she'd thought she'd hear, because I know that wasn't her best grin that I got back. She did, however, have an immediate riposte: "Actually, she sounds like me."

Multi-generational awesome.