I walked into my favorite beach shop–merchandise beckoning from every tacky inch of space. I looked at tee-shirts, wind chimes, floppy hats, beach towels, sand toys, shells.
Then I stopped at the jewelry counter, and saw a crowded display of ankle bracelets. Some had small ornaments attached, sand dollars or little bells, and some were unadorned, made of fine silver chain.
I’m sixty-six. I wear sneakers and sensible sandals. Ankle bracelets are for sexy young women, or older women who think they are.
I bought one.