A middle-aged woman sits down kitty-corner to me (so our knees were almost touching) on the metro this morning.
Midway through a page of When You are Engulfed in Flames (my Sedaris favorite) I hear a loud, nasally "excuse me! excuse me!"
It's the knee-toucher. So I look up.
"Excuse me!" "yes" "Where did you get your shirt?" "Uh, Banana Republic, I think." "Is it a cowl neck" "Yes (reaching down to pull out neckline as a visual aid)" "No, I mean, is it a COWL neck (looking at me like I'm the biggest idiot in commuting history)" "yes, I think it is." "Yes, well, shirts like that used to be in style once."
"Union Station, doors opening on the left"
Thank goodness. Thank you, metro gods. I escaped. But not without many sympathetic looks from all females within a five foot radius.