My roommate, Emmelle, is an elegant young lady. She was told as much by an old man who asked her to pose for photos while she and friends dined at a Midtown meat festival.
Naturally, I have since chosen to make as many references to her purported elegance as possible, to the amusement of her friends and myself, if not to her. (Her natural elegance includes an interest in stories like this.)
But I wonder what that faintly creepy old guy -- who now owns several digital images of my roommate, images being put to purposes best left unconsidered -- would think if he saw her tonight when she came home tipsy and almost stabbed herself in the face while cutting her wristband off with a knife.
Eyepatches are totally elegant.