In the pink
It's St. Patrick's Day in Hoboken. Lucky me, I got out of town and missed out on most of the drunkenness, loudness, lewdness and greenery.
But alas, I got off the train at 9:15 or so and started walking the five blocks home when I passed a group of tipsy, 20-something guys. "Hey, I'm liking the girl in pink," says one of the guys. I'm wearing a pink jacket, I suddenly realize. Ha. I immediately tense up, but then can't help but smile.
Not in a million years did I ever think I'd get a kick out of being called a girl while in my 40s, but I honestly laughed for another two blocks without ever looking back.
Happy St. Patrick's Day to me.
But alas, I got off the train at 9:15 or so and started walking the five blocks home when I passed a group of tipsy, 20-something guys. "Hey, I'm liking the girl in pink," says one of the guys. I'm wearing a pink jacket, I suddenly realize. Ha. I immediately tense up, but then can't help but smile.
Not in a million years did I ever think I'd get a kick out of being called a girl while in my 40s, but I honestly laughed for another two blocks without ever looking back.
Happy St. Patrick's Day to me.
posted by Nancy Colasurdo | 9:59 PM
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