In order of ugly

For men

1. Baggy pants
2. baseball caps
3. hoodies

For women

1. tight, sausage link jeans
2. dress down/casual Friday wear
3. lace up high heels, wedgies or boots

Made her day

A woman in a simple black sheath, black belt, modest jewelry and black high heels with a good haircut and understated make-up walked past my table.

"Job interview today?" I asked.

She looked a bit puzzled, and then said, "No, just going to work."

"Well, you look absolutely fabulous."

As she left, she paused at my table and said, "Thank you, you made my day."

What are the chances?

"I've waited 13 years," she said. "He'd better make an honest woman of me."

Even at 46 and a few times around the block, some women just don't get it.

From where I sit

The coffee shop is a good place to observe women's fashion and behavior. This week across the room I saw a woman in a stunning, expensive cream colored pants suit with an orange/pink paisley blouse join two men at a table for three. In her mid-30s possibly, she had a stylish hair cut, tipped with blond, perfect make-up, shoes and purse and brief case to die for. However, from a distance, I couldn't tell if this was a business meeting, or if she'd just noticed some friends and sat down. As she sat there in animated conversation, to my shock she put one foot on the chair seat, and brought her knee up above the table, the way a kid sitting on the playground might listening to the coach give instructions.

Then this morning a tall, dark haired dad maybe late 40s and his tall, dark brunette teen daughter enjoyed a breakfast bagel and coffee sitting across from me. She was wearing a mini-skirt shorter than any I saw in the 1970s. There was a table between them. Dad couldn't see her crotch, but I could. How do parents let their daughters out of the house like that and then support rules about sexual harassment in the schools?

A poem for today's dilemma

From a story I heard at Panera's today. I meet the most interesting people.

Health Insurance Woes

Look at me strut
and show off my stuff.
Can you see my thong?
It's not so tough.

I can barely move--
my jeans are so tight,
And guys look at me so,
now, that just ain't right!

At the top of my grade
and the job is secure,
three kids and a guy,
my home life is sure.

Except for my shape--
He wants implants for me!
Would S-CHIP cover it?
I think I'll go see.

Cross posted at Collecting my thoughts.

Exercise

some horse sense. It was very dark and foggy when I left for the coffee shop this morning about 6 a.m. The schools were already announcing delays. I slowed to about 20 mph on the 35 mph street because it was like driving in pea soup.

But the biker-lady was at the coffee shop wearing her black hat, dark red coat, and black stretch pants with nothing reflective on her clothing, and only a little motion powered battery on her bicycle fender. She was munching her carrots and reading the newspaper, as I took these notes. She is probably about 50, or maybe just a skinny 45, and glared at me when I asked if she had biked there on such a foggy day.

Someday she'll be hit by a motorist who didn't see her along the side of the road. Maybe that motorist will be talking on her cell phone, or restraining a cranky child, or reaching for a cup of coffee as she moves along at 30-35 mph on city streets, wet, slick and dark. Then there will be cries of outrage from the safety experts.

They might be able to pass legislation on auto emissions, but it sure is hard to legislate common sense for joggers, bicyclers and motorcyclists who share the road with 2 ton vehicles.

Photo by Amy.

Writing on the butt

A young teen was standing in line at the coffee shop today with her dad wearing gray sweat pants. Written across her bottom was ABERCROMBIE. Why is her father not telling her she's asking men to read her butt? Fathers: it's your job to explain the facts of boys' lives to your daughters.

Sitting by the fire at Panera's

It's below zero in Columbus. The fire at Panera's and the classical music has never been warmer! A couple in their mid-50s enjoyed the table next to mine. He was tall, not over weight; she was maybe 5'6", quite thin, and had a voice much deeper than her husband's. She also left for awhile, so I assume she went outside for a cigarette. Upon returning, she pushed back her chair and propped her feet up on the hearth with all the grace of a mechanic or tree trimmer. Later she moved to an easy chair and laid her right foot across her left knee like most men.

Made me think of my dad who used to say, "Don't you know how to sit like a lady?" when I sat in a chair sitting on my feet.

Open toed shoes in the snow

Yesterday at the coffee shop I was the only person in the parking lot at 6:05 a.m. It was snowing and sleeting and about 2 inches of slushy wet cold goop was on the ground. As I was drinking my coffee I saw a woman come in about 6:45 wearing 2" high heeled, open-toed shoes. They sort of looked like what was popular in the 1940s, so it must be a new fashion trend. She didn't even stomp her feet to get the snow off the way I do, and my toes were curling in my shoes from empathy. She picked up a shopping bag full of goodies and headed back to the parking lot. Brrr. No wonder women don't get to the highest administrative levels. They can't keep their feet dry.

Look alikes--almost

At the coffee shop this morning I saw two women sit down at a table for two, and wordlessly spread cream cheese on their huge bagels and begin to take very large bites, lick their fingers and wipe their lips with napkins. Exact look alikes from my seat by the fireplace. They didn't talk until their bagels were down to crumbs. I wondered if they were twins as I watched their jaws move in unison. So I discretely stared. No, one was older. I couldn't see her face, but there were signs.


yum

Older: black slacks and gray cardigan
Younger: hip-hugger jeans, studded belt, layered black striped shirt over gray sweater that showed some cleveage

Older: medium-to-large black shoulder bag
Younger: small black shoulder bag

Older: black leather dress boots
Younger: tan suede construction boots

Older: short hair, softly permed, dishwater blonde
Younger: short hair, spiky and moussed, lightened blonde

Older: small pierced earrings
Younger: dangle pierced earrings

Older: tasteful make-up but no mascara
Younger: tasteful make-up with mascara

Older: coffee in a china cup
Younger: poofy, fluffy drink in a paper cup

When I got up to leave I could glimpse their profiles. Their noses were shaped differently, but I decided they were mother and daughter, ages probably about 38 and 16 and very good friends.

Stunning

At the coffee shop this morning I wanted to say to the stunning woman dressed in a black, straight long skirt with a side slit, black boots, charcoal turtle neck and charcoal sweater-jacket, "You are the best dressed woman I've seen in weeks." Even her black hair was meticulously tousled.

It was casual chic, but oh so pleasant to the eyes. But she reached into her black leather brief case, and pulled out her black cell phone, so I didn't interrupt this vision of "all-put-togetherness." It's days like this that I miss my daughter-in-law.

Coffee with a not so old Friend

We got together for coffee recently. We both live close enough to Panera's to walk. We are both retired--I in 2000 and she in 2004. I haven't missed work a single day, but she's having a bit more of a struggle--misses "her kids." I've lived in the community for 37 years, and she grew up here. I've been a member of the church since 1976 and she is a charter member. But when she mentioned her best friend in high school, I said, "but she used to baby sit for us."

When she was 18, I was 28. We were worlds apart. I was changing diapers, shopping for groceries, making the dollars stretch for wallpaper and drapes for the new house, feeling the oldest I've ever felt in my life--wondering where had life gone. She was going to football games, planning for college, looking forward with excitement to all that was to come. And now, that 10 years doesn't make much difference at all.

Romancing the coffee bean

She came in the coffee shop today. I hadn't seen her for maybe four or five years. A single mom with the stress of a teen-age daughter with too much mascara and a sullen younger boy. They occasionally were with her on school holidays, pretending they didn't know each other. We spoke briefly and caught up--she's working in a different suburb now, having coffee at another place.

A finish carpenter also stopped by in those days. A fun guy with a twinkle in his eye. We always chatted. Another woman used to call him "the stud muffin" after he left--always a little swagger, full of himself, but oh so in love with his metallic cherry red pick-up truck.

He started chatting up Ms. Lonely Mom. Soon he was walking her to her car, as though it wasn't safe for a woman at 7:45 a.m. in Upper Arlington to walk alone through a coffee shop parking lot. Then one day I saw him kiss her at her car door as he opened it. Oh, so gallant.

That's the last time I saw him. She continued to come in, anxiously watching the door and parking lot. Maybe she was just too needy. Maybe he saw the children. Or maybe he found another coffee shop.

Dump Him, Honey

She was the morning, cheery, part-time, counter assistant when I first met her at the coffee shop. An English major. We joked she was going to write the “great American novel.” She was excited about graduating from college, and even took some time off in June 2003 to travel to New York to check into grad school.

I’ve stopped asking her about her plans. She now has an official store name tag. She has a title. And responsibilities. Doesn’t smile as much. She, or her parents, probably spent $70,000 on her education and she is figuring schedules, taking complaints about spilled coffee, ordering supplies, training new college students to take orders and doing quality checks.

Some mornings I see her making furtive phone calls before 6:30 on her cell phone. The smile and bouncy step are gone. I suspect she has settled. She hasn’t settled for marriage instead of career or grad school--the way my generation might have done in the 60s. She’s not even a fiancée. No, I suspect it is “significant-otherhood.” Or maybe just shacking up, with no commitment beyond next week-end.

Dump him, honey. Move on. He doesn’t deserve your talent and sense of humor. Chase your dream. There’s plenty of time later for guys who will waste their lives and yours sleeping in.

Coffee and Bear Claws

I saw two women walkers at Panera's wearing reflective vests over their exercise outfits. I hope they were at the end of the exercise routine and not the beginning. Two large coffees and two huge sacks of bagels, brownies and bear claws could slow a woman down. And I think that was a women's track team--about 16 of them--sitting next to me. I've heard Panera's stock is dipping due to the low carb craze, but around here it seems to be the place to stop after exercise.