Graduation is happening this week, and the entire town is crawling with proud families and their overdressed progeny. I don’t like crowds, or bustle, but I find the sudden appearance of tens of white canopy tents on campus to be vaguely interesting. Karen, our new flatmate, enlightened me about the graduation goings-on. Apparently there’s a ball, with a carnival, and a brunch with champagne and strawberries, and live music, and a ceilidh on the lawn, and a hundred other things to celebrate all the people who have graduated. At least, provided that you can afford it, which I can’t. Being left out of the festivities causes me to look upon the crowds and bustle with more than my usual share of annoyance, but this morning a woman who swims after I do gave me a different and altogether pleasant perspective.
I was piddling about, moving as slow as winter molasses, pulling on my socks and shoes as an older woman came in.
“Good morning!” she chirped.
I responded in kind, and she set to undressing.
“I was hoping that if I hung around outside long enough they’d give me a glass of champagne and a strawberry tart,” she said. “But sadly I seem not to be well enough dressed.”
“You should go out in your bathing costume!” I encouraged. “Tell them it’s couture!”
“Exactly! I’ll be the rich eccentric.”
I hope that I can grow up to be that cool. Also, how awesome is it that she was looking for a free glass of champagne before her morning swim?