No doubt about it: it’s hot already at 80°, but, luckily, yesterday’s humidity has yet to reappear. When it does, on goes the AC. My breakfast spot had no empty booths this morning for more than a minute or two, but I happened in at the right time and immediately found an empty booth. Breakfast, though, was boring. I’m beginning to think it always was, but I just didn’t notice. Lately I’ve tried eggs in a variety of ways, but there is only so much you can do with eggs. I’ve also tried French toast and even breakfast sandwiches. I’m out of options for what I think is the most boring meal of the day.

I sat at a red light by the summer church as it was letting out from mass. People in shorts walked out, and that’s what I noticed first. I thought how comfortable they must have been all crowded together in a pew. We used to have to wear skirts to mass and hats on our heads or even Kleenex if we didn’t have a hat. Bobby pins held the ugly white Kleenex in place. That reminded me of flying not all that long ago. People dressed up to fly. It was an occasion. It’s the same at my Friday night plays. Men used to wear shirts and ties with sports coats and women wore skirts or summer dresses. Now the dress code is simply cover your body in some way.

I read in the paper that GQ named Boston as the worst dressed city. The magazine article blamed all those college kids, called them hoodie monsters. It referred to the city as, “America’s Bad-Taste Storm Sewer: all the worst fashion ideas from across the country flow there, stagnate, and putrefy.” I find that a perfectly accurate description of the Boston fashion scene. I think I probably add to it as I like hoodies, and I hate to get dressed up.

The cape has always been a haven for the under-dressed, for the bathing suit crowd, for Topsiders white with salt rime, flip flops and t-shirts. It’s one of the reasons I love living here. No matter what I wear, nobody notices.