Southport Talks

When a woman is feeling frumpy and obtuse there are few alternatives of ailment like wearing cute shoes, changing into a sassy outfit and walking down Southport Avenue.

I dare say that this endeavor assists the mental circus in convincing oneself that the looks from commuters off the Brown line are attractive glances and not mere glazed-over work stares of mindlessness.

Though the ego can rarely ignore the feeling of frumpiness, at the least the heart can feel compelled by the conversations that wave through the crowd like the white Walk hand that blinks at every block.

I don’t doubt that our twenty-five year old conversation is that different from the sixteen year old one happening on the opposite side of Anthony’s Italian Ice freezer. Those girls seem just as confused about the world of the Y-chromosome as we do. Will he call? What do I say if he does?

Most of my day is spent having conversations with people about issues and subjects that they designate. I feel more like overcooked spaghetti post-eight hours of work than like a true contributor to society. By the time I can wear my Kenneth Cole Reaction heels and pull off the cardigan I’m ready to have as much endless chatter about the drama of life that one might indulge. Especially if it's over a scoop of Blackcherry flavored italian ice for a buck fifty.