First off, when you’re called Miss at my age, you’re having a good day.
To be called Miss by a handsome, well-heeled, polite forty-year old that looks like a matinee idol is like winning The Derby.
Seems I dropped my scarf I Babe Paleyed around my straw satchel he chivalrously rescued attempting to return.
Barbara Paley, known as Babe, considered one of the classiest, chicest women who ever lived, started the trend with her Hermes scarf tied jauntily around her Chanel, Birkin, Gucci, Pucci handbags.
I didn’t hear him as he must have tried getting my attention because, suddenly he was in front of me, the scarf held delicately as if it were the Holy Grail.
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my naked bag, “that belongs to me.”
“I know,” he said, letting a dimple slip enhancing an already, awfully sexy smile.
Then it dawns on me how upset I would have been if I had actually lost it since, it belonged to my late, great friend Jackie I so loved and chronically miss.
Without thinking, after taking it from his outstretched hand, grabbed his waist gratefully hugging him.
One could say, my girl got loose.
“Forgive me,” I quickly said, realizing what I had done. “This scarf really means the world to me, and besides,” I said, doing my best Bette Davis, “what else to do when you meet Sir Lancelot.”
That smile that was already pretty big, tripled in size.