by Sadie Stein
“You’re in scarves.”
“Oh, you mean this?” I fingered the cotton scarf around my neck.
“You make them. I see the way you touch the material. It’s okay—I’m a designer, too. We all have to get ideas.”
“No!” I said. “I’m not a designer! I got this at the flea market!”
“It’s okay, I can tell,” she said. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying! I’ve never made a scarf in my life! I mean, I knitted a couple, but—”
“I know,” she said. “I understand. It’s okay. I can tell by the way you dress.”
Let it be known that I was wearing Converse sneakers, jeans, and a green army jacket, so I guess that’s the uniform of sneaky scarf designers.
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