It was a chilly evening a few years back. It was fall. Or winter. I can’t remember which.
Sash and I sat huddled over hot tea and cupcakes at Cake Shop and talked about men. Or boys. I can’t remember which.
“Where do I meet guys?” I moaned. And I have never forgotten her answer.
“You have to do what you like to do. You have to go and sit at Dean and Deluca with your copy of Adirondack Life and someone will walk in and he will fall in love with you.”
Sometimes I get caught up in expectations, obligations, comparisons.
I should be smarter, I could be taller, I shouldn’t be so scared to fail, I should open up more, I should wear vintage, I should cut my hair, I should be blonde, I could stand to lose a few pounds, I should call Chrissy, I have to visit my parents.
I lose myself.
I am 5’4”. Too short to be tall, too tall to be short. But I can always reach the top cupboard and still wear the tallest heels.
I make a terrible first impression. Occasionally dubbed snotty, I grow on you after awhile.
I love to eat. I will never give up burgers, fries, cheese, and cake to lose my saddle bags.
I love spike heels, skin tight skirts, and straightened hair. But I live for the one week a year I spend in the mountains with none of that.
I’m trying to embrace it all. And someday, Mr. Dean and Deluca Adirondack Magazine will, too.