Sunday, September 14, 2008

don't have any reasons, i've left them all behind

New York was disgusting today - sticky and smelly. And glorious.


A friend, E, and I went to MoMA and then shopping, and then I visited the best three year old on the planet (someone else can take the title once she turns four, but I don't care who, because then the best four year old in the world is most important).

I was trying on clothes at the Esprit in Columbus Circle this afternoon, where the sales staff takes the clothes people carry while browsing to start fitting rooms. Edgar took my clothes and then told me that he was distracted explaining a store promotion because I had beautiful eyes. Heard it all before, but it is my favorite compliment.

When I finished browsing, he said that he would love to be my second opinion when I tried on clothes. I pointed out that I brought a second opinion with me (and she looked quite entertained by my ability to attract zaniness). Every couple minutes, Edgar yelled my name across the dressing room corridor, asking if I had something to show him.

"I'm only trying on boring long-sleeve shirts and things," I finally replied.

"I'll get you a dress to try on," he called through the door. A moment later, he returned with a gorgeous argyle sweater dress, a size too small and a bundle above my budget.

"What happens," I asked him, "if I refuse to try it on?"

"I won't let you out of the dressing room," he said. Well then.

He had me model it by the three-angled mirror for another bored sales guy and a stricken female employee before I was permitted to slip back into my own clothing.


Later, E cozied up to an Upper West Side Starbucks while I visited best three year old. (E: "You have such a soft spot for that child.")

She started French immersion preschool this month. Her mother told me that most of the kids are either fluent or proficient in the language, and only a few - including hers - don't know any. All the other non-French speakers had meltdowns the first week, she said, while her daughter ran out of class, gaily remarked, "Mama, I can't understand anything they're saying!" and then ran back in, unfazed.

Also, the pint-sized teenager allayed my fears that she wouldn't remember me after a few months' absence by rolling her little eyes as she said, "I know you."


File this under "Did I just make that up?": Comparing yoga biceps with college thesis adviser.

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