Sunday afternoon

On Sunday afternoon I put on a dress and went to tea at the estimable Ms. Stephan's home, which seemed like a highly civilized sort of thing to do, not least because she has several pianos and things are automatically made fancier by their mere proximity. We drank from dainty cups and ate wee homemade cupcakes.

I understand, of course, that this is not everyone's idea of a well-spent Sunday. Indeed, on my way, while stopped at a red light, I watched a young man emerge from a parked car wearing only work boots and very snug briefs, the camouflage print of which disguised exactly nothing. "Huh." I thought, because I have lived here a very long time and it takes more than that to rattle me. Then he turned around and I discovered that the print of the briefs was not their most compelling feature. And I laughed.

Where exactly does one go in nothing but ass-less underwear of a rainy Sunday? I could not say, but I am guessing it wasn't a tea party.