Dogs in Pajamas

I learned about the Bolshevik Revolution this morning. Why you might ask? Because I was lucky enough to get a gift certificate for an amazing full-body massage by a very, strong Russian woman. My body feels GOOOOOOOD right now. After the massage I talked to a few women who were gathered in the waiting room. We talked about socialism and the cold war and the weird things we were taught about one another as children.

New York City is diverse. Walking home from my massage I walked past a tall, blonde man wearing a skin-tight camouflage tuxedo who happily leaned into one hip as he admired his reflection in a window. He gave me his most dazzling smile. Yesterday I went to the Bronx to enjoy delish Italian food on Arthur Avenue where rumor has it that mafia occasionally still axe one another in restaurants in the area. I ate the best imported parmesan and salami and brought home fantastic home-made biscotti.

This morning I nearly tripped over a small, puffy dog wearing pink and white striped pajamas. He and his owner came prancing out of a neighboring apartment building, leashes and bags flying in all directions. I admit I felt immediately impatient with the pair as I fought for real estate on the sidewalk. I love eclectic people. Oblivious people? Not so much. I know I have no right to judge. I am often oblivious to the world around me, but dogs in pajamas?

It's a rainy day in New York. A perfect day to curl up with a book. Such strange weather we are having this August. But I'll take it. Good excuse for a nap.