In the Russian language “red” and “beautiful” have the same root. As they should.

Several years ago I bought a red dress. There was a man, and I wanted him to think I was beautiful, I wanted to be beautiful for him.

I never wore that dress much. I didn’t actually have the guts to demand that much attention. But yesterday, because the springtime flashes of bare skin are starting to emerge all around me, because my arms, my collarbones, my knees are starved to be touched by the sun, I put it on.

I went about my business, in Midtown, the Lower East Side, Union Square, the East Village. Wearing that red dress made me lift my head, look people in the eye, it made me feel beautiful and I smiled and smiled.

That lovely warm day was followed by a lovely cool night, and the first night to sleep with the windows wide open, delicious air streaming across my bed. Now the red dress is put away, and with it it's charm, and the bed feels so empty, as it should.

Today, however, I bought another red dress.