Dear Jane,

There are few things quite so curious as being approached by someone who has spent a considerable amount of time not approaching you.

One naturally assumes, in such a moment, that perhaps the world has shifted ever so slightly upon its axis. That an acquaintance has remembered one's existence. That the simple pleasures of conversation, so often overlooked in modern society, are about to make a welcome return.

Such was my hope one morning last week.

A lady with whom I had exchanged very few words appeared before me and offered a greeting. I confess, Jane, that I was rather surprised. Pleasantly so, in fact.

But scarcely had the greeting settled between us when I discovered that I had not been approached for the pleasure of my company.

I had been approached for the possibility of my attendance.

There was, it seemed, a class. A creative gathering involving paint, refreshments, and, one presumes, a modest financial contribution.

How extraordinary.

For months, my presence had required no particular acknowledgment. Yet the prospect of an additional participant had apparently rendered me quite visible.

Naturally, I behaved with perfect civility.

I inquired whether she enjoyed conducting these gatherings, listened attentively to her reply, and offered all the appropriate expressions of interest.

It did occur to me, however, that a person might improve her prospects considerably by first establishing an acquaintance with those she hopes to persuade.

A simple conversation about the weather, perhaps. An inquiry after one's family. Even a passing remark about the unusually persistent autumn rain might serve as a suitable beginning.

But I suppose such preliminaries are considered unnecessary when one has something to sell.

I must admit, Jane, that a rather mischievous response presented itself to my imagination.

I pictured myself observing, with the sweetest possible smile, that it might be wise to speak to someone on two or three occasions before attempting to relieve them of their money.

What a remarkable silence might have followed.

Alas, I am not nearly so bold in person as I am in retrospect.

Instead, I smiled, made pleasant conversation, and departed with my manners entirely intact.

And perhaps that is just as well.

For there is a particular satisfaction in possessing the perfect remark and having the good sense not to deliver it.

One may be perfectly gracious in public, after all, while enjoying a most entertaining conversation with oneself on the journey home.

Yours, with affection and a little amusement,

P.