And the tailor arrived late in the afternoon to take my measurements. He wanted–longed–to start work that day. I informed him of a party I was throwing. I suspected he longed to come to the party as well. I did ask him, by the way. But he politely declined. Which surprised and annoyed me, as he displayed such an outburst of anticipation for the event, as if he knew people who would be there, of which I suspected he would, given his clientele and the mere suggestion of his influence of style. For all I knew, he could very well have sewn for all my party guests. At any rate, he declined and shortly thereafter left with my measurements. I was now alone–left to ponder the rather politeness of this man and his even more politeness of his refusal to attend the party. I wanted him there. I wanted him.