Cafe Ole

It's New Year's Day, and after a lazy start, M and I went out to hang in the city. Old City. Walking down 3rd street, we stopped in a snazzy vintage clothing store that was having a half-off everything sale - YAY! I found a snappy 3/4 sleeves camel hair (yes, real) pea coat for 15 bucks, and a wonderfully mod-ish white enamel metal cuff bracelet. Ummmm. M tried a pair of 501's that gave him sausage ass. How unfortunate. Exhausted from our vintage rummagings, we ambled down the street to Cafe Ole. A small, genteel cafe that seems more home grown, and less murderously trendy than some others. M had a cafe latte, and I had a hot cider and chocolate chip cookie. As I sat nibbling on my sweet little cookie morsels, I realized that nearly everyone around me was excessively, heart-achingly hip. Less trendy and beautiful, than stylish and well put-together. And wayyy tooo young. She-of-the-small-thighs-and-narrow-hips to my right was donning leggings and a brown YSL bag. Authentic. With salon perfect, dramtically black and bluntly cut high-sheen hair. Her escort was equally well-coiffed, with the apparently de-riguer shades propped just so above his forehead. Then a young woman of ambiguous ethnicity, with a mop of wild, curly, dark hair sauntered in, wearing a sweater, scarf and black opera length leather gloves. She chattered in an overly familar way with the waitress. Obviously this one was a regular. When did I get so old? And why hadn't I bothered to properly accessorize? Ugh...