Hiding My Greenwich

On a cold Saturday morning earlier this month, there was a small event in my NH town. I put on my best I-overslept-and-it’s-almost-over outfit – jeans, big shirt, frayed jeans jacket and the requisite hair scrunchy and drove the distance – 2/10ths of a mile. Almost immediately, I ran into the town matriarch (if there is such a thing), gave her the requisite hug and said, “You look lovely.” She did. She just stared at me until I explained, “I’m in my best frump outfit.” She said, “You did a great job.” I replied, “Shh! I’m hiding my Greenwich.”


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