Yesterday I left my perch over the Charles to meet Michelle at Downtown Crossing to do one of my more favorite things. While she searched for bed linen, I modelled suitcoats. After swimming I was sure to switch from my Caltech tee into a club-appropriate CK white oxford. My taste, even at Filene’s Basement, is just slightly beyond my financial reach. The coats I selected were $400 and up.

Perhaps I should respond to those D.E. Shaw Group emails with subject headings “From the D.E. Shaw group on the recommendation of your peers.” Again, I’d like to thank Minhua for his recommendation. Then I could afford the suitcoats. I’d probably even be obliged to wear them. But then there’s that pesky living in New York and working for a living thing and not getting a PhD.

While this happened a while, I never found an opportunity to mention it. Abbe doesn’t want a diamond engagement ring. She says she doesn’t want to contribute to “the market of the concept of the diamond” because the stone has led to so much bloodshed in Africa. Now, if you’re my mother, you only read “Abbe” and “engagement” and you might even be crying right now. In fact, it took me a while to decide whether to repeat the words. And as they’re set apart in quotes, you’re even more likely to pick those out and ignore the rest. So, I’d like to take this space to make certain that Abbe and I are not engaged. Nor will we be. I’m sorry mom, and possibly Abbe’s mom. She’s moving to New York to work. Wait a second, maybe she could buy me suitcoats.