I stood in front of my closet, wrapped in a towel, staring at my clothes for one full minute, which was a long time, given that in ten minutes more I was expected to present myself fully dressed. I nixed the all-purpose dress. Though comfortable, the garment is looking a bit shopworn, which is not to say I won’t be wearing it for years. I considered my tweed blazer, but if I remembered correctly, I was wearing that very blazer the last time Tasha and I met. I didn’t want her to think I had only the one blazer, though that was close to the truth. I pictured Diana Sutton Alvarez. As much as I disliked her, she did dress with class. What was it about her? Black tights, I thought, and quickly rooted through my sock drawer until I came up with a pair. I put on clean choners and then shimmied into the black tights and added a skirt. The fabric was wool and the color was dark so I figured I couldn’t go wrong there. I found my tassel loafers and then struggled to find a top. I put on a white blouse and discovered a button missing. I tucked my shirttail into the waistband of my skirt and then pulled on a hunter green crewneck sweater. The “ensemble” (which means: a bunch of clothes all worn at once) didn’t look half bad, but it needed another touch. I looked around the bedroom. Ah. I’d been using a hand-knit wool scarf along the bottom of the door to the upstairs bath, keeping out the drafts that crept through the crack where there should have been a threshold. I snatched up the scarf, shook off a few woofies, and slung it around my neck. I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror. I was, as they say, a sight for sore eyes.

I grabbed my jacket, my shoulder bag, and my keys, and headed out the door.

By 5:27 I was comfortably ensconced in my favorite booth at Rosie’s, my gaze pinned on the door while I feigned indifference. Rosie took one look at me and knew something was up. I wasn’t sure whether it was my hair, still slicked down and damp, or the blusher and mascara I’d taken such care to apply. I could feel myself squirm under her scrutiny.

As she handed me a menu her penciled-on eyebrows went up. “You heving a date?”

“I’m meeting my cousin Tasha,” I said, primly.

“A cousin? Well, that’s heppy news. Is this the one you can’t stand?”

“Rosie, if you say anything of the sort to her, I’ll sock you in the mouth.”

“Ooo, I’m loving when you talk tough.”