Memories being as imprecise as we’re led to believe they are, I’m still going to hold faith with the details of the following brief one from the Fifties.

When I was three or twelve, or somewhere in-between, I recall asking my mother if she and my father were attending such and such an upcoming party.  The origin of that question is unclear, makes sense that one of my schoolmates mentioned a parents’ soirée-to-be?  I’m open for other ideas;-)

Her response, without irony or even an air kiss of envy, was ‘Oh, no, dear, we’re not their set.’  Obviously I was ‘imprinted’ with how centered that seemed, sounded.

‘Set’, what a sly term.  A lexi-antique?  Dave loves an antique…

I’m routinely called out for wandering off topic, but today it occurred to me that this may be my only charm.  In honor of that realization, I’ve misled you with the post title; don’t be angry.