On Friday evening, after a trip upstate to do yoga with my friend Julie, I found myself roaming the streets of Astoria with a Dunkin’ Donuts hot cocoa in search of broccolini. Weird, right? My days of roaming the streets on Friday nights, and stumbling into bars, is a long gone memory of the past. Now I wear sweat pants or wide leg jeans, leggings and a sweatshirt if I want to feel “sexy” and troll for fresh produce. I’d like to think of this as a sign of maturity, although it feels more like a sign of giving up or a resoundingly loud and cotton clad resignation to being 44, low estrogen and single.
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