A Flick of the Pen

Beverly Hills’ least likely visitor

Who in the world but me would go window shopping on Rodeo Drive with butter greasing the webbing between her fingers?

Neither could I afford the seventy-thousand-dollar diamond rings in the window, nor could I reasonably try anything on with this shameful butter situation.

My husband and I had just come from dining on scrumptious Iranian addas polo rice in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Westwood. Unbeknownst to me, I left the restaurant with more than a full belly.

It was when I stepped into the David Yurman store — to peruse more affordable jewelry — that I discovered my wedding ring was greasy with butter. In fact, the base of both my ring finger and middle finger were coated with a slick sheen. With no tissues on me to hide the evidence of gluttony, I did the next best thing, which was to keep my hands casually in my pockets.

When the salesman offered to let me try on anything I liked, I responded politely, “Thank you, I’m just browsing today.”

In a world of glamorous, thin women, I was the one wearing butter.