Hope for the hopeless in fashion
"What do you think about this?" she said to me, holding up a checkered midriff shirt.
"For me or a doll?"
The sales clerk laughed. And she was genuinely adorable. "For you!"
"Yea-a-a-a-h, I'm pretty sure my midriff days are over," I said.
"Really?" She asked. "Do they end?"
See? What'd I tell you? Adorable.
"It's pretty cool-looking," she said in a singsong manner, as if trying to seduce me into a midriff purchase. Oh, sweet child, if only you knew, no one could seduce me into a midriff purchase. Jason Momoa couldn't seduce me into a midriff purchase. (Though I wouldn't object to seeing him try.)
"It's totally cool-looking," I agreed. "But I'm not looking for this cool. I'm looking for adult-cool -- ideally adult-business-cool."
She looked at me as if I just told her Homo sapiens evolved from pancakes. Her eyes darted around the room as she tried to make sense of what I had just said.
"I'm sure it's a thing. Adult-business-cool is not an oxymoron."