Russia

Today on the elevator at work, a Russian (or former Soviet state) woman complimented me on the dress I was (and still am, rest assured) wearing, calling it "Cute. No no no, not cute. Sexy!" To put things in perspective, I am wearing a floor-length teal maxi dress. From all the stories, and first-hand observations of those on the Brighton Beach-bound Q train, former Soviet state women are a wholly intimidating lot. To receive such a compliment is, for what it's worth, highly gratifying.

I predicted that today would be a good day, upon receiving yesterday's mail. The New Yorker came a day earlier than usual (!) and with it came a letter from Carly, swathed in an envelope designed to look like a topographical map of Connecticut. Crazy. Mail comes in a very predictable cycle this summer. Usually, the New Yorker arrives on Tuesday, Time Out New York on Thursdays and Netflix DVDs two days after I send the previous one in, like clockwork. Thus, the surprise of letters and packages and postcards always seems to serve as little welcome hiccups in the cycle.