I Was Accosted by the Brown Haired Lady

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I mean, yeah, sure, she certainly looks innocent enough. Yes, her. The cute woman with the rosy cheeks, bright smile, blue eyes, and shoulder-length dark brown wavy hair. But, something’s not quite right about this picture. I know this sounds odd but … standing there in the middle of the racks at the consignment shop … I get this strange feeling that the brown haired lady is watching me. And, surely enough, the next time that I glance up, I see her eyes quickly dart away from mine. Yep. Something’s up.

Rewind a couple of days. It’s the weekend, and I’m spending Saturday morning with Bro, Andy Milonakis’ sister, steak & egg brunches, and champagne glasses filled with mimosas. Afterwards, we go bargain shopping at consignment shops because we wonder which one of us will be the next one to find the second-hand Kate Spade purse for $15. So, there we are. Standing in the consignment shop. And, that’s when I notice the woman discretely staring at me. But, hey, it’s New York. You can find random people staring at other random people at any hour of any given day, right? So, it doesn’t bother me that she’s staring. But, it does bother me that I don’t know why she’s staring. Is she an interested lesbian? A crazed psychopath? Do I have a booger hanging from my nose? Oh gawd!!! I must have a booger. I quickly bat my nose with the back of my left hand and move to a different aisle. A few moments later, I peek over the clothing racks to see if the woman is still looking at me. I catch her eyes quickly darting away again. Dammit. What the hell is going on?

Time passes. My friends and I move toward the checkout line. I’m about 15 feet away from the door when I hear a small voice behind me say, “excuse me.” When I turn around, I see the brown-haired woman standing in front of me. Uh-oh. Moment of truth. “Excuse me,” she repeats. “Is your name Stolie?” I breathe a sigh of relief. My birth name isn’t Stolie, but that’s my nickname. And, the only people who would know me by that name are close friends from college and the people who read my blogs. Given that I’ve never before met the brown-haired woman standing in front of me, she must fall into the latter category.

Oddly enough, I instantly become a little nervous. It’s Saturday morning. I’m carrying a brown paper bag with a box of my leftover brunch food, and I’m slightly tipsy from the mimosas. I’m wearing a red top, wedges, and a second day’s wear jeans. My sunglasses are tucked into my shirt between my boobs, and I don’t have any makeup on. It sound silly to say it, but it disturbs me that I’m having my first “hey, aren’t you that girl from the blog?” moment when I’m not properly groomed. It’s a lot like letting someone see your apartment for the first time when it’s a complete and total mess. It’s like I wanna say, “No really. Trust me. Things don’t always look like this.”

The brown haired woman takes one look at me and says, “you look gorgeous.” And, instantly, just like that, I wanna make her my new best friend. She and I chat. Giggle. And discover that, oddly enough, we have a common (albeit insignificant) connection via one degree of separation. It’s a small world.

After Andy Milonakis’ sister and Bro finish at the check out counter, they walk over to the brown-haired woman and me. The conversation flows smoothly. Introductions are made. And, seconds later, we’re all laughing together as if the four of us have known each other for more than the 8 minutes. “I don’t wanna hold you guys up …” the brown-haired woman says. And, with that, friendly goodbyes are said. We prepare to part and go our separate ways. “You know,” I tell her, “you’re the first person who reads my blogs that has ever recognized me on the street.” The brown haired woman seems surprised. She thinks for a moment before saying, “Well,” she starts, “have you ever noticed anyone ever randomly staring at you?” Now, I think for a moment. “Yeah, but, you know … it’s New York.” The brown haired woman, Andy Milonakis’ sister and Bro all nod in unison because they know what I mean. New York is both a small town and a city filled with lunatics. So, sometimes, its damn near impossible to tell the difference between a glance of recognition and a crazed stare.

In any case, this “Reader Appreciation Day” post is dedicated to the cute little brown-haired woman from the consignment shop. You know who you are. And, because you came up to me, I now know who you are too. So, I just wanted to say a public “thank you” for reading my blog. (NOTE: Psssst! Big drippy kisses on the lips and a special Reader Appreciate Day “Thank You” to the folks at New York magazine as well! Thanks for reading the FBC and quoting my blog in your 8/13/07 issue!)