December, 2014
Red Gloves
Not long ago on a cold night in Columbus, Ohio, I left Max and Erma’s after an enjoyable dinner with two co-workers, stepping carefully down icy steps to the sidewalk that would lead us back to our convention hotel. Without much thought, other than that my hands were cold, I pulled my favorite red gloves out of my coat pocket and slipped them on.
“Red gloves!” One co-worker chortled. “What are you, twelve years old?”
I was too surprised, and cold, to be hurt or angry, but the comment lingered in my mind. (Read more…)