Sammich

Jen and I went shopping today. She needed fashion hosiery, I needed lipstick and boots. We work near enough to the Herald Square Macy’s to almost make it worth dealing with the 50,000 tourists per square foot to fight one’s way up to the Clinique counter only to be told one’s favorite lipstick color has been discontinued.

Jen secured her three pairs of bad ass patterned tights, I got the closest color I could find to my color of choice, and we popped into 5th floor fancy shoes so I could get a completely unnecessary pair of boots.

I’ve been on the Great Burgundy Boot Quest of 2006 from the time the daily temperature dropped out of the 80s. I ordered a lovely pair from Zappos, but the bastards were so slim in the calves that without the assistance of Fabio or similar, there was no way they were zipping all the way up my leg. Back they went.

At Macy's I found a pair, that, while not technically my dream pair, are totally serviceable: under $200, burgundy, pointy toed, 3 inch heeled, and happy-making.

Jen, tights in hand, and me, boots and lipstick in hand, left Macy’s to struggle upstream in the midtown throngs.

Macy’s is in the Garment District, and where there’s clothes, there’s models. It’s not uncommon to see underfed 14 year olds loping along 7th Avenue on their way to a fitting, or a nice vomit, or whatever else it is models do.

Today, though, we spotted not one, but two girls who looked like skeletons with a light dusting of skin. I turned to Jen and said, “That one needs a sammich, or a rice cake, or something.”

Jen, watching one walk over a subway grate, says “If she’s not careful, she’s gonna slip right in there.”

Then we laughed and spoke of burritos.