Think about a time you were recently in public. Describe what you were doing from the point of view of a stranger observing you.

The door chime alerts me that someone has entered the bakery. I dust the flour off my hands and walk to the counter.
A little boy's voice fills the air. He's talking so fast I can barely understand him. He stands at the display shelf, staring at our selection of doughnuts. He's clearly excited about the prospect of having one by the high tone of his voice.
Pulling on the suffocating disposable gloves I'm required to wear before I handle food takes me a moment to collect myself before I greet the customers.
"How many would you like today?" I ask the lady, I presume is the little boy's mom, standing next to him.
She looks a little flustered, but wears a smile. Her eyes dart around the store, then land on the doughnuts her son is pointing at.
"Umm...we've never been here before." Not exactly the answer I was looking for. "But, umm, can we get a chocolate one?"
I glance down at the little boy. He's pointing at the chocolate glazed doughnuts. I grab one and place it on a tray.
"Anything else?" I scrutinize the mom as she looks over the rest of the doughnuts.
Her hair is in a messy pony tail, that she somehow pulls off with a trendy shirt and sweater. Her skinny jeans are tucked into cowgirl boots. She must be from out of town. Not many people wear boots like that around here. As my eyes scan back up to her face, I notice she's hiding a baby bump under her flowy shirt. I wonder how many weeks along she is. Is that what drove her into our doughnut store around lunchtime? A pregnancy craving?
My stomach twists at the thought of being pregnant. Even though I'm in college, working to pay my way, and getting good grades, having a baby would crush all my future plans. As soon as I'm done with this small town, I'm headed to the city to get a real job. Of course, making doughnuts all day isn't exactly rocket science, and the owners are more than fair with wages and hours, I do aspire to do more with my life. Being a mom can come later. Much later.
I look the woman over again. I wonder how old she is. If she planned her life to turn out the way it has. Did she always dream of being a mom? I can tell by the way she talks to her son that she loves him. Her soft replies to his demanding questions are better than I can say of most moms, mine included. Did she learn to be kind from her mom? If so, I have no chance at being a good mom. Better leave that one to someone else.
"I'll just get a chocolate one too." She interrupts my thoughts. It takes me a moment to remember that she's talking about the doughnuts.
I place the second doughnut next to the first and take it over to the register. Best get this order finished before I botch it.
The little boy is standing at the counter, his blue eyes full of anticipation. You can practically feel it rolling off him. His blond hair is gelled in a hip style, and his clothes are a cool enough to make most grown men jealous. Clearly his mom has taste.
He must take after his dad, because his mom has brown hair, and a tan complexion. But their blues eyes do match. That must be what she passed on to him, a genetic trait that connects them as each other's.
The mom grabs a chocolate milk from the fridge and sets it on the counter. Her cell phone and wallet follow. I assume she is ready to pay.
"Will that be it?"
"Yes, thank you." 
I put the order into the register, trying not to pay too much attention to the huge diamond ring on her finger. She must be married, to a generous man. The way her eyes sparkle and constant smile lights up her face, she must be happy in her marriage too. That kind of happiness you can't fake.
I wonder if I will end up as lucky as this woman, with an adorable boy to show for it. Is that what I want?
I think back over my life. Being raised by a single mom, barely able to make ends meet, let alone go out for over priced doughnuts during the middle of the day, I never imagined myself getting tied down to someone for the rest of my life. Couldn't imagine myself making that commitment. But maybe, just maybe it is worth it.
I wish I could ask her about her life. Ask her about what makes her so happy. Is it her son? Is it her husband? What makes the light in her eyes fill the store with warmth? She has the answers. I know she does. If only I could ask.