Trading Places

A couple of months ago, I used this photo in another entry that subsequently was lost (remember the drama/trauma?). I said some rather cruel (but not unwarranted) things about clowns and tacky figurines and even said that the little ceramic dog couldn’t redeem this particular figurine. I may have mentioned that I felt a little bad for the dog, because he didn’t ask to be included, but I’m not too sure.
So anyway, I’ve realized lately that I may have been a bit too harsh. I may have been too quick to judge. To paraphrase an old proverb, I shouldn’t judge a man until I’ve walked a mile in his clown shoes. Or at least stood in them, motionless, in a store window. So that’s where I’ll be all day tomorrow. If you happen to pass by (the store is somewhere on the west side of Fifth Avenue, in the mid-20s), please just avert your eyes and go about your merry way. And don’t bother pricing me; I think the items in the store are only available “to the trade”. (Besides, you really couldn’t afford me.)

The clown will be taking my place tomorrow. Doing what I ordinarily do. I just hope that after Pilates, he has the good sense to buy me all sorts of good stuff with my Banana Republic coupon (20% off! and it expires tomorrow!) and take advantage of the big sale at Macy’s. And I also hope he has better taste in women’s shoes than he does in his own.