What would you do if this happened to you?

A couple of Fridays ago, I was sitting in my car outside Studio B on Greene Street, waiting for my daughter to emerge from dance class. It was sixish and dusky, and I was reading on my phone, when a moving shadow caught the corner of my eye. I looked up to see a man with a neat beard and a nice smile; he waved and signaled me to roll down the window.

My daughter has reached that delightful age when American girls begin to obsess – and obsess and obsess and obsess – over clothes, shoes, makeup, hair, accessories, home décor… the whole girly shebang. For many girls, it’s the beginning of a journey that never ends. (Perhaps “journey” is too dignified a term; “trivial pursuit,” maybe?)

February is generally a throwaway month. The happy holidays are long gone – but not your holiday weight – and flirtatious spring refuses to commit (thank God, since you still need to lose that holiday weight). If you're black, you can celebrate your history; if you're newly enamored, you can rock Valentine's Day. For the rest of us, there's little to mitigate the midwinter blahs.

 Unless you're a movie maniac living in Beaufort.