A LITTLE SPRING FEVER

“She was walking without a coat and she looked very solid and strong and her belly was flat, like a boy's, under her skirt, and her hips swung boldly because she was a dancer and also because she knew Michael was looking at her.” From “Girls In Their Summer Dresses.”

Perhaps the best thing I have ever read about girl-watching, that short story by Irwin Shaw. In the story, Michael is walking in New York with his wife. She becomes irritated at how he is constantly watching women as they pass in the street. The story is “Girls in Their Summer Dresses.” I love more than the story, and if I can be forgiven for a sexist moment, a throwback to the “male chauvinist” of the 60s – I like nothing better than a well turned out woman. And for the woman, nothing suits her more than that airy cotton spring dress – the style that seemed to arrive about the same time as the first crocus. There is no more compelling sign of spring. (The Shaw story actually is set in November.)

Today, I nearly did to my wife, what Michael was doing to his wife. We were leaving our apartment and crossing the little plaza in front of the building I noticed a pretty 30-something woman sitting next to the fountain. She was wearing a dress! I wanted to go over to her, risking perhaps a charge of sexual harassment, and compliment her. I would have said something like: “How wonderful of you to be wearing a dress in honour of spring.” How wonderful because when spring arrives and with it the sense of spring “fever” – I am always disappointed that so many women have forsaken femininity for feminism. They are almost all wearing slacks or jeans. They do not want to be on display. They do not want to be objectified. I sympathize.

But do they realize that they have deprived people like me of one of the great joys of spring. The summer dress should be as important as the first robin or a bed of tulips or a gentle breeze that is the harbinger of sultry days to come.

Because spring is my favourite season, I want to luxuriate in all its aspects. I don’t think I objectify women. I think I like looking at them, especially well-turned out and fresh and not always eye-popping beauties.

I wonder if she would have had the grace to dimple up, turn a little red, and thank me for the compliment. Or would she call for the cops.

I know this – my wife would not have tolerated it. I am her sole source of male attention. Or else.

P.S. We were on our way to see the movie “Bridesmaids.” It was superb. It was all about women. Don’t miss it.