She looked angelic - blond hair, blue eyes, serene face, white outfit. She only needed pretend wings. But then, perhaps she doesn't have to pretend...
Naturally, conversation turned to angels.
"Do you believe in angels," I asked, as she held my big toe lightly, and deftly sliced the top off the nail.
"I'm not sure," she said, still looking down and slicing. Perhaps it's just as well she didn't look up.
"You're not sure?" I queried. People don't usually say they're not sure... There could be more to this story...
"Yes, I'm not sure. My great-grandfather believed in angels and lots of mystical things. But my great-grandmother was practical and down to earth. She'd never believe in anything unless it was proved."
"Most people don't believe mystical subjects until they experience one. If they don't ignore it, they then choose to find a 'rational' explanation; or think they're ill and see a psychiatrist; or accept the experience as reality."
The angelic nurse took out a pair of sharpened tongs that could have been used in the Spanish Inquisition, if they weren't so gleaming. "One day, my great-grandmother was in the garden, when she fell forward. As she fell, an angel suddenly appeared, touched her forehead, and pushed her upright again. She didn't fall."
"Excellent."
"After that, she believed in angels, like great-grandfather. The angel saved her."
"Great story," I said, as I watched this angel save my feet.