I think cute stationary store workers are to me as cute baristas were to my ex-husband: catnip.
Perhaps my taste in men (and women) really hasn’t changed. I am still lingering in paper shops, preposterously overdressed. Still waiting patiently after the cutie behind the counter deduces my discontent with the color selection of moleskin journals on the shelf. When he volunteers on a quest to the back room,
“I think we have other colors- green? Let me look”
How shockingly observant. How shockingly non-color blind. There he goes, shuffling around the back room of the shop, ascending ladders and bringing out boxes upon boxes of journals.
“Oh wow, yeah I love the green of this one- but the size of this one. And the perforated pages.” He brings out another selection, and we agree that the muted orange-red “isn’t really my red” I say, holding it against the cherry blue-red of my winter coat.
“I think I’ll settle for the green with the perforated pages, gives me room to make mistakes.”
So, perhaps the quality of customer service in Vienna has skyrocketed suddenly, or perhaps not.
Regardless, I have a new journal, in a new color, with perforated pages. I decided to go into the next year with some room to make mistakes, to start over.
On my way home, I stopped by the corner bar. I came for a whiskey sour, and to break in the new journal, and get a head start on all those mistakes.
We must go whiskey tasting.
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