An important day lies ahead of me. I know that it’s a day of consequence because it requires traveling north of 14th Street and remaining there for hours and hours— longer than my usual two-martini cocktail rendezvous at the Algonquin or the St. Regis. After all the meetings, I’ll be fatigued and in need of a taxi and glass of wine. I wish I had saved a good bottle for a day like today.
“I think it is a matter of having both ignorance and the confidence to take on the task of undeveloped paths.” (Tom Ford)
Today, I am ignorant and confident and wearing a chic, little fall suit. I’m even wearing nice shoes that Mamma would approve of. Y’all wish me luck and hope that I make it back down South—south of 14th Street—with a smile on my face.
I am a Southerner in the City, an aging debutante, a small town girl cursed with big city aspirations. My grandfather says that I’m at the cusp of feminine failure—I’m as old as a bottle of prime Tennessee whiskey (aged 25 years) and still single. I need to “get on home” and find a nice Southern boy—a doctor, maybe an insurance salesman. At this, I dig in my heels and set out to date every inappropriate man in Manhattan…
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