I hadn’t planned to go out today. Thus explains the ten-year-old sweater I’m wearing, the lack of make-up, and big coat that, although it’s too warm to wear today, I put on in an attempt to cover up my fashion shortcomings.
Subway is usually dead before noon, so I wasn’t too worried about being seen. I ignored the voice in my head that reminded me what a small town this is and that I should look my best at all times in case I cross paths with someone with whom I wish to be friends.
I didn’t panic when I saw that there were no spots in front of my favorite sandwich shop. It was probably just our neighborhood delivery guys stopping for a quick lunch break. Who cares what they think I look like? Besides, they’ve already seen me at my worst; I usually look like I just woke up when I answer the door for the UPS man.
In I walk with my head held somewhat high, and then I saw her. By far the coolest looking person I’ve seen since moving to this town.
She was wearing a beautiful purple jacket, carrying a classy, little purse, and rocking a choppy, bobbed haircut. I immediately felt my head fall a few inches as I took my place behind her in line.
I had an overwhelming desire to talk to her. What was the icon of fashion doing amidst a town full of hand-knit Christmas sweaters?
I could ask her where she gets her hair done. I need to find a good hairdresser. She would tell me a quaint story about how she’s been frequenting the same salon since she was a little girl, and before you know it, we would be lunching and shopping together. And then I remembered my unsightliness and suddenly felt like I was in middle school again, longing to be as cool as the popular girls, knowing that I never would be.
I decided to save myself the embarrassment and watched her reflection in the sandwich case as she paid for the spicy Italian sub that she made even spicier with jalapenos (I know there should be a tilde over the “n,” but I’m not that tech savvy). I clutched my bland, vegetarian sandwich, vowing that the next time I leave the house – even if only to take out the trash – I’ll look like a million bucks.
And so she drove away in her sporty, red two-door, while I fumbled to open my gold, Buick Century.