I have a great (6’5") friend who had the most amazing collection of bright ski sweaters. He had about 25 in all – plaids, stripes in greens and reds, yellows and blues. Nothing subtle. But he, a very selfish man, went through a surprising Santa phase and decided to give all his sweaters to the bums who sat on the icy cold benches on 59^th Street and Central Park. On Christmas day he brought me over to see his newly dressed friends all lined up on the bench like Christmas stockings.

I went shopping with his lovely mother at Bergdorf’s several months later when she visited from Milwaukee, and she beelined it to the men’s sweater department, picked out a bright ski sweater for her son’s February 14^th birthday. The source of the sweaters was revealed. As we sat for drinks at the Plaza in the Oak Room, I looked out and saw a few of her past gifts, now looking much the worse for wear, on several bums. She, after a few martinis, confided in me that her ex-husband, my friend’s father, had ended up like the men on the bench over there – an unredeemable drunk. Ahaa!

by Tina