Seema got chatted up by an extremely dapper immunologist from Afghanistan by way of Paris. He struck me as a slight bit slippery, but Seema's a grown-up girl and a professional and she seemed to like him. He did buy a book from the institution's used-book shelves, which won him some points with me. Seema is gorgeous and has a lot to offer, that's all, and she deserves a lot, so Ming and I were feeling slightly overprotective as we watched them. But I'm sure she'll be fine if she decides to pursue anything. It seems like centuries since Jimmy, who back then was popularly known as "Harry Potter" for his unfortunate haircut and his glasses, talked to Seema all night at Ming's party in her grubby old basement studio in Cleveland Park. Well, it's probably been five years. I don't know that anything romantic has come her way since then, so let's hope the Dapper Doctor is a good one.
After that I walked them part of the way home and we stood on the corner of 18th and Columbia having a nice little dishy chat. Ming had some hilarious horror stories about the male-female situations she ran into last summer when she worked in Paris. I think I'm glad I don't live in that city. Best of all, Seema invited us over for brunch and a possible chick-flick/pedicure session on Sunday. We might also be going to Shakespeare in the Park Saturday night. So there's my weekend, sorted.
After seeing them off, inspired by Seema's walk all the way from the World Bank to the event, I ended up walking 3 miles up Connecticut Avenue to get home, uphill all the way. I kept a snail's pace and it took me nearly two hours, but my feet were still bothering me a bit by the time I got home at 11. It was gorgeous out and I felt a little bit like Holly Golightly*, making my way serenely through the urban night. It reminded me of an old poem I love, "Night Subway" by Katha Pollitt. I'll try to post it later on when I get home.
I'm going to miss this town.
*Yeah, right. I know.