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"Excuse me, do you have any other yellow shirts?"

I turn around and find the source: an elderly woman holding two yellow shirts in her hand. She speaks slowly and in broken English, but the effort doesn't go wasted on me. I smile - a big and genuine smile, probably my best one that day. The lady in front of me reminded me of my grandma, and I admired the sincerity in her voice.

"Yeah, we have some right over here," I say, walking over to shelves on the wall. There were a few yellow shirts scattered around, but she had about half the options in her hand already. She smiles and thanks me before asking whether they were for boys or girls.

I pull out the tag from one of the shirts and double check.

"This one is for girls, but to be honest boys can also wear this."

The woman smiles and thanks me once again before saying, "I am getting these for sports day, and they need yellow shirts, one boy one girl."

My heart swells and takes me back to those warm and carefree sports days of my youth. The scent of wet cement in the summer heat, the excitement in the air, the promise of a day filled with fun, all the feelings come back for one brief second. Then I snap out of it and I'm back at the store and I say something in response.

What a nice grandmother.

She thanks me profusely once again, and I watch as she walks over to the cash register and makes her purchase.