Stars Align

I got my favorite librarian a lavender cashmere scarf. She never wears it, not even in frigid weather. There was a fire drill and we had to evacuate. I waited for her outside, heart pounding. She emerges with her coat buttoned up to the top--no scarf.
The stars never align for me. By the time I acquired the charm, wit, confidence and vocabulary to bowl women over, my hair was gone and my neck resembles a bombed out mountainside. No one cares how elegant I look in plaid. Young people offer me their seat on buses. You say, see, the stars have aligned. I say, shoot me now and get it over with.