The date with Siegfried materializes. The phone wakes me from a late afternoon nap; Siegfried is back in town from the holiday and wants a date tonight. I agree. Going out has become such an exercise in frustration for me lately that I now question whether it’s worth the energy involved to shower and iron a shirt. I no longer fly about the house getting ready for a date the way I used to– the way Wendy and I used to get ready in Rosslyn: shower and ironing and painting. I have stopped thinking that romance is waiting out there in the city night– sparkling like jewels, beckoning me. Just another sad stranger to share a few hours of personal fantasy with.