I was sitting at my favorite bistro enjoying a glass of wine. I couldn’t afford lunch but decided, could still enjoy its warm ambiance, for a limited price.
There I was, all gussied up in a favorite dress, something I do to feel better…to act as if all is well and I’m the chicest, prettiest girl in town.
That’s the writer in me folks, spinning a fanciful tale.
There was a group of young Italians sitting at a round table across from me. They looked like an Armani ad, with a touch of the Gap thrown in. European style with its effortless approach always grabs my attention. Reminds me how in Italy, everyone looks great.
When I got up to leave one of the girls, all of 18, said in a clipped Italian accent, “Scusi…we’a think…yua Auda’rey Hep’a-burn.”
Of course this stopped old, vain me like a freight train.
“Thank you…such a compliment, but I assure you I’m not her.” I figured they were too young having no idea she died over 20 years ago.
“We are going doncing…tua club…will yua come?”
Now, even this is so un-American, to spontaneously invite Audrey Hepburn to come join them as they boogaloo down Broadway.
Maybe it was the wine, or just the desire to feel vital for a change, but I went…piling into a cab down to a place in the village with a 5-piece band playing songs like, Rock Around The Clock and Runaway, tunes even their parents weren’t alive yet for.
We danced together in a large circle as if we were one big shooting star, and the most amazing thing?
I could hear the music, I could hear them laugh.
My ears, those little pranksters, clearly were dancing too.