I recognized the signs. Carnivorous eyes, accelerated breathing. And most certainly, hidden beneath your attire that defied the pigeon-holing of any particular decade-a heart racing like a runaway train. (I’ve found myself in a similar condition on many an occasion.) Moreover, as amidst your rummaging, I gently broke it to you that the collection of coats, hanging on a rack outside the hall, in fact belonged to ladies attending the jumble, and weren’t for sale, I knew we were destined to become best friends.
True story. Almost. I’ve just altered the details slightly to protect the innocent.