Little Miss Chatterbox

Omigod, what is that feeling, that sort of ... warm feeling?  There was something unusual in the sky today, yellow and hot.  It felt good.  Like moles blinking in the unfamiliar light, the pasty citizens of  Toronto were drawn outside.  

I went down to Queen Street West, drawn by the yellow thing in the sky to do what every woman has to do at this time: look at spring fashion.  Not to buy anything, I the queen of second-hand.  But I love to look, and what a great day for it, people with their coats open, even wearing shoes though the sidewalks were still pools of slush.  Lots of flimsy little girl-type things in the stores, see-through tops, baby doll dresses, just what a 57-year old woman wants to wear.  I'm still waiting for the waistband of pants to move up from the pubic bone to the actual waist.  

I bought a t-shirt with "Little Miss Chatterbox" on the chest, above a drawing from the children's books that used to be favourites around here.   Remember "Mr. Grumpy," the only book our former premier Mike Harris could come up with when asked his favourite reading? Bet he hasn't read a thing since then, either.

Then I bought a MAC lipstick at the Bay - nothing like a new lipstick to perk up a day.  The man at the MAC counter had tattoos on every visible part of his body, green and red tangles up his arms and around his neck; I saw the word 'hate' but assume it was part of a longer quote renouncing same.  He had six earrings in his right ear and one through his septum, his hair was glowing pink, and he was working at a women's makeup counter at the Bay.  Times have changed.  

Happy spring, Toronto.  It will be mild for a few days, then they say more snow.  But we have felt the heat of the yellow thing; there is hope.  They can't take that away from us.