More Than a Hair Toss

I have a magic skirt, but I just realized this power yesterday, and I have had the skirt for a couple of years. Since I am not going to post a picture of the skirt (I don't want envious parties to track it down and steal it), I will just give you a little background on this marvelous piece of fashion...and then I will tell you about its magical properties.

A few years ago I saw a picture of a red toile Anthropologie skirt in an issue of Lucky Magazine. The stores in the Seattle area were sold out, and the nationwide search (literally, the shopgirls searched everywhere for me) proved fruitless so I turned to my mom to help me out. I described the garment, and she produced a worthy replacement. I loved it, even though at the time it's best features lied dormant...until yesterday. (Amazing isn't it...I am writing about something that happened yesterday and not two weeks ago.)

Yesterday my roommate and I ventured down to Union Square for a little bit of girl time and retail therapy with her friend (and wife of the playwrite in July's trip to Massachussets). To get to Union Square we have to take two trains: the 1 and the NRQorW. The trip can take up to 40-45 minutes, so it is key to find a place to sit down. We were successful on the 1, but after waiting a really long time for connection the roomie and I walked into an apparently full train. I really didn't want to stand. Fortunately Roomie spied two seats about ten feet away.

As we skipped to the seats I caught the eye of a tall, dark and dashing gentleman sitting in the seats next to the ones Roomie found. He was wearing sunglasses, but I know he was looking at me because he smiled at me, and watched us sit down. I knew right away that he was foreign. he looked foreign, and he and his friend we were not speaking English. I turned my head to pick out the language and look at the language in the newspaper his friend was holding. I assume it was Italian. The newspaper had recognizable characters and well, there are just a lot of Italians in this city. Because I was spying, not-so-secretively I might add, we exchanged a few coy smiles.

All to. soon his stop came. His friend got up, and hoped hoped hoped that the "Italian" was going to stay on. He moved to get up, leaned over and said, "I like your skirt. It is very beautiful." I thanked him while smiling mildly flirtatiously...and watched him leave the train. Immediately Roomie and I started giggling. We kept our eyes on the still-open door and we saw the "Italians" pass by the door one more time (after obviously having gone the wrong direction off the train). And when they passed, the "Italian" looked over his shoulder and smiled at me one more time.

If I haven't said it before, Mom, thanks for the skirt.