I knew I was going to have to bike all over Minneapolis today at mid-day and I have finally realized, after three years as an elitist urban bicycle jerk, that you just can’t do that in a dark suit and remain respectable or not die of a heat stroke. So I thought I would suit up in my Martha’s-Vineyard-yachting-casual outfit for the day: a stripey blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to quarter-length, white boat shoes with no socks, and white highwater slacks, with a “Kennedy ‘80” button on the breast pocket.
It worked, too, because I was sitting in a coffeeshop, and the most handsome man I have ever seen walked up to me. He was about 50, perfectly tan, and wearing an outfit almost identical to mine.
“Hello,” he said, extending his hand for me to shake it and smiling broadly. “I like your button. I was Ted Kennedy’s press secretary in the 1980s.”
“Whoa,” I said.
“Ha ha, yes,” he replied.
I am telling you, reader: sometimes you set the bait, and the universe goes for it.