Peril of commenting on women’s apparel

So I’m buying some cottage cheese at a little eatery near the paper.

The pretty young woman ringing me up is someone I’ve dealt with before. She’s friendly.

She’s wearing a shirt emblazoned with the image of a wolf. It’s kind of cool.

“I like your wolf,” I say as I accept my change.

“What?” she says.

It’s just a second or two before I reply. But that’s long enough to rebuke myself for calling attention to the fact that I was looking at her shirt. It’s not super-tight or anything. Nothing like that. But in revealing that I noticed her attire, I am potentially inviting unpleasantness. What if “wolf” is young-person slang for something suggestive, unsavory or X-rated? Good God, when am I ever going to learn to never say anything?

“That’s a wolf, isn’t it?” I say, pointedly not pointing.

She says it is, and smiles as she realizes I had said I liked it.

No harm done.

This time.