The ladies of Downton know how to accessorize. Hats. Parasols. Jewelry. If only I had a lady’s maid…
Lady Mary would carry an embroidered clutch. Edith? A sensible rucksack. And Lady Sybil? A lace reticule. Me? I’ve been known to resort to reuseable tote bags rather than commit to a day bag purchase.
It didn’t used to be so hard. In college we all carried JanSport backpacks. Everything you needed fit inside: calculus text-book, roller blades, a six-pack. My current work tote is a flannel number from Acme Made. It’s sleek and huge. My sister gave it to me. She’s routinely embarrassed by my handbag choices and gives me her cast-offs.
This volunteer reported for her first Super Bowl XLVIII shift last night, braving the arctic temperatures at my station outside the Lexington Avenue entrance to Bloomingdales. I came prepared with facts about the week’s activities, bathroom locations, and eateries. Unfortunately, the folks who wander around Midtown East are born and bred New Yorkers. Confused by our presence, I think most assumed the yellow-clad troops were some unpublicized initiative by Mayor DiBlasio.
Defying the mid-day sear, the women of Sevilla shoot down Calle Sierpes. They don’t walk, meander or stroll. Stacked heels attack the pavement with the same ferocity they use to verbally barrage their lovers in the cafés at night. “Why don’t they sweat?” I wonder, rolling an iced bottle of Barbadillo across my forehead, attempting to stave off hyperthermia.
Sevilla’s kioskos are deserted during the afternoon.