Beverly Hills’ least likely visitor
Who in the world but me would go window shopping on Rodeo Drive with butter greasing the webbing between her fingers?
Neither could I afford the seventy-thousand-dollar diamond rings in the window, nor could I reasonably try anything on with this shameful butter situation.
My husband and I had just come from dining on scrumptious Iranian addas polo rice in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Westwood. Unbeknownst to me, I left the restaurant with more than a full belly.
It was when I stepped into the David Yurman store — to peruse more affordable jewelry — that I discovered my wedding ring was greasy with butter. In fact, the base of both my ring finger and middle finger were coated with a slick sheen. With no tissues on me to hide the evidence of gluttony, I did the next best thing, which was to keep my hands casually in my pockets.
When the salesman offered to let me try on anything I liked, I responded politely, “Thank you, I’m just browsing today.”
In a world of glamorous, thin women, I was the one wearing butter.