While walking the single block between my office and hotel in deserted downtown Anchorage late this evening, the clickety-clack of my Kate Spade cap toe patent leather wedges (my preferred shoe attire for court) echoed loudly in my ears.
So too did the words of a spunky former colleague from Brooklyn, with whom I have long since lost touch, but who once broke up a fight between two pit bulls in the street with her bare hands, and called the sound of a woman's high heel shoes hitting the sidewalk "the dinner bell for sex offenders."
I wasn't afraid though, because I had a good omen today, which was finding a stray, unopened Diet Dr. Pepper in the drawer of my adoptive desk at work.
It was almost enough to counteract my annoyance at being chastised from beyond the grave by Wally Hickel, former governor of Alaska and noted hotelier, for thinking about stealing his bathrobe which I wasn't going to do, I'll have you know!
He found a nice way of saying this, since if I "wish to take it home with me, the cost ($75) will be charged to your account by notifying the front office clerk." He didn't come right out and say, "if you steal my bathrobe, I'm putting $75 on your credit card," which is what he meant, but whatevs.
Is noticing that the esteemed and legendary Wally Hickel is kind of being a little bit of a posthumous dick a bad omen?
I don't know. I'll keep you posted.