Friendly? I can be friendly ...

I am not predisposed to make conversation with those I consider to be strangers. Blame my Ms. Manners mother, blame my uber-polite Canadian streak, but I don't chit chat with store clerks, those with whom I am standing in line, or those seated next to me on airplanes. We aren't friends, we're victims of circumstance, and I don't presume that they're interested in me any more than I'm interested in them.

It's not that I'm rude - I say hello, please, thank you and excuse me when appropriate - but I don't want to hear how much they're dreading spending the holidays with their family, are unprepared for their sales presentation a mere four hours away, etc. I'll make the occasional exception to this rule, but, particularly now that I live on a small island with a zillion people, I'm saving my energy for the people I actually care about.

That said, one of the things about living on a small island with a zillion people is that you're forced to occasionally interact with strangers - for example, when 25 couples are squeezed into 25 tables for two that, along any other banquette in any other city might accommodate 12 (and people wonder why New York women are so thin - they have to be to get in and out between the tables!). My indigenous friends are culturally competent, and I'm warming to it occasionally. Occasionally. Don't believe me? I've got witnesses ...

• Coat shopping this weekend: The Pastry Chef and I were making our way up the stairs at BR. There's a landing that overlooks the men's dressing rooms - not that far, breathe, ladies - and one guy was asking his male friend's opinion on a pale blue v-neck sweater - the one every man owns, that brings out the colour of his eyes. He was in the middle of an /I'm not really sure about this/ sentence, so I leaned over the railing and said, "Actually, it looks pretty good." Not exactly an Angel of America moment, but we enjoyed it, and the Chef agreed that he was cute.
• Later that day, at the cleaners: They identify laundry by phone number, and I heard the guy behind me say "206". I couldn't help myself, I turned around and said, "Seattle?" I then discovered he was a) cute, but young, b) born and raised in 206, and c) loves the 'friendly, open people' and 'the best lifestyle in the USA'. When I mentioned the rain, and that, as an outsider, friendly and open hadn't exactly been my experience, he scoffed. Needless to say, we quickly parted ways.