The Grove.

It was a humid, breezy Friday night and she made sure to assemble her outfit around the humidity factor, not losing sight of the more important factor: style must not be sacrificed for the sake of unavoidable though bearable weather consequences. In fact, she was wearing her new Oscar-de-la-renta-esque frill blouse that was obviously designed with both elegance and climate in mind. After her tear shower earlier in the day (or rather, her tear sprinkle.) there was no need to suffer another climate disaster. And this bold fashion statement in itself could possibly help to remedy the cause of her minor emotional "El Nino."- the loneliness she felt, not in the present, but in the future.

Interesting enough, she decided to date herself to dinner, and when she considered inviting along warm company for conversation, all she really wanted was to sit in silence with her mind; though she'd been sitting in silence quite a bit lately, her mind was usually not invited.

Alas, there she was, accompanied by her dear mind, in a crowded cafe in a crowded city.


"I'm not really as elegant as I'd like to be," she thought, the moment she realized she'd been tensing her shoulders and ungracefully released them without paying attentiont to the grace she sacrificed in order to acquire some.

"But this crisp, sweet glass of Pinot Grigio complements my blouse at least."

She remembered her younger days when it matter desperately what matched her outfit and how the ceiling fans would blow her bangs out of place. Now all she could consider, as a cute older couple sat closely together next to her in the booth was how much she wanted to snuggle with someone in a cafe, and tell her the frizz climate did not detract from her....presence.

"is that salmon!?"
Asks the female cuddler.

"No. Chicken."

"It's beautiful!"

She agreed with her when she tasted it. She remembered hearing on television that day that the body cannot digest mroe than 2 to 3 ounces of meat at a time, which substantiated her excuse to not finish her doubled American size portion, as much as she wanted to make the most out of a meal that cost her starving artist self a week's worth of groceries.

"Someday," she thought,"I'll reach the standards I have for myself, and if and when that happens, then only can I expect others to meet them too."

"Why do I set them so high?"

That cafe reminded her of Europe. How she missed her European life. Pinots all day long, and sidewalk cafes, and escalator couples. Perhaps it is that yearning that keeps drawing her back to Mr. No (formerly known as Mr. Big.) For now, it is solitude she is drawn too, which is easy to find in a city of wandering egos.