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you are, at least.”
    I pulled down the visor. “Great, no mirror. Anyway, remember I told you that Mitzi told me in no uncertain terms to jazz up my appearance? That’s what the makeup and this stupid scarf are about.”
    “You know, when you came out of the house in it, I thought it was a bit weird. Especially considering how adamant you were in New York about the hipster summer-scarf trend being ridiculous.”
    “I know. I’m ashamed. I panicked.”
    “Sarah, you’re beautiful. You don’t need jazz.”
    “Thanks, Josh. Mitzi, however, disagrees with you.”
    “You don’t have to do this,” said Josh again as he pulled into a parking spot to drop me off.
    “If you say that one more time, my head is going to explode and you will have to clean my brain fragments out of the air-conditioning vents. I accepted the job because hanging around the house all day is a bit too Little Edie for me. Even I’m tired of myself.”
    “Who’s Little Edie?”
    “Never mind. Okay, here we go. No more complaining. Time to hawk some rhinestones.” I leaned over to give him a kiss. “Do I really have to ask Iris for a ride home tonight?”
    “No, I’ll come get you. Just text me when you’re ready.”
    “Thanks.” I stood up, feeling immensely relieved, and waved good-bye. The coffee date itself was bad enough without the thought of an awkward ride home and invitation inside haunting me.
    In New York, you said to someone, Oh, we should definitely get together for coffee, and that someone nodded politely while replying, Definitely! and then you never made any plans. There was a mutual understanding of the social code wherein sure, you wanted to get together, but in all honesty, wasn’t it just too much effort? Here, apparently, you said something like that and the person on the other end of it answered with, Great, what about tomorrow?
    Bauble Head’s front window glittered in front of me like a bedazzled pocket square. I forced a smile and opened the door, setting off its cacophony of bells as I did so.
    “Hey there, ladylou!” Mitzi’s head popped up from beneath the cash register. “Just organizin’ this mess. The good news is that I found my stash of Peppermint Patties!” She held up the silver bag proudly.
    “Yum,” I replied. “I love those.”
    “Me too. Just don’t tell Nancy.”
    “Who’s Nancy?”
    “She runs my Weight Watchers meetin’s. Total stickler.” She shoved the bag back underneath the register. “Let’s just say that I’m not exactly one hundred percent honest about my points. You ever done Weight Watchers?” She looked me up and down. “Prolly not, you old skinny thang, you.”
    “Oh no, I have. Before my wedding.”
    “Oh right, the tried-and-true skinny-bride maneuver. I pulled that card too! Except I survived on celery and Tab for three months.” I raised my eyebrows in response. “It was the seventies, darlin’. I am tellin’ you, me and Clyde look at those pitchers now, and it’s like lookin’ at someone else’s photo album.”
    “Clyde is your husband?”
    “Thirty-eight years and countin’. Anyway, welcome, welcome. Your first day!”
    “I know, I’m excited.” I clapped my hands like a seal in an attempt to distract from the monotone in which I had delivered my reply.
    “Okay, first things first, let me show you the merchandise.” She flip-flopped away from me toward the front of the store.
    “Do you possibly have a notepad and a pen I can use? I should have brought my own, but things were a little hectic this morning—”
    “This isn’t Harvard, sweetie. All you have to do is watch and listen.” I scrambled to join her, willing my brain to cooperate despite the fact that it was sloshing around in a fishbowl of whiskey.
    For the next hour, Mitzi expounded on the differences between crystals, rhinestones, and cubic zirconia. She extolled the virtues of faux ( Never say fake! ) versus real ( You can buy more of it; you can wear it to the pool and if you