On the way to meet a friend for lunch, I saw two men walking dogs. OK, you say, so what? Here’s the what: between the two of them, they were handling twenty or more dogs. The dog pack was remarkably well-behaved, if a little confused at their own mass.
A wondrous sight.
It wasn’t until I got downtown before I realized its import. Twenty dogs being walked meant, say, twenty people who were no longer working out of their homes and were thus no longer available to walk their own dogs.
Maybe I’m misreading this as a sign of good times ahead. But I don’t care. It’s a sign of good times ahead.
P.S. In getting ready to meet my friend, I had unaccustomed problems. First, I had to view my clothes in order to pick something to wear, something that wasn’t my fling-on sweat pants and whatever shirt is in my pile of whatever shirts.
That was more complicated than I imagined it would be. Where were my slacks and what were my slacks? What to wear on top of the slacks, and in what color? Eventually, to settle things down, I decided to pick a top which “went” with my socks.
Then came my face. Oh boy. I dusted off my makeup and tried to remember what to apply and how. Should I wear blush under my mask? If so, why? What did I swathe under my eyes to cover up the dark circles?
And where were the holes into which I inserted earrings?
With earrings, blush, top and slacks I got myself out of the house, I met Yola on the 42nd Street subway platform, we traveled downtown and ate lunch at a really lively place on Broome Street.
P.P.S. Are the cars on the IND line longer than the ones on the IRT? Today it seemed so. I’m probably wrong. But there were twenty dogs. At least.