The Kimono selected for Rigoletto was the colorful one that prompted Gary to say, "You aren't leaving the house in that, are you?" Gary hates everything wonderful, so I felt confident from that point on. I felt even more confident when a random woman said we looked lovely and asked Anne and I where we got our clothing.
I had been the random woman myself earlier when I went out of my way at the start of intermission to compliment a young girl's gorgeous Downton Abbey hair. (The girl was sitting the The Germans' seats, by the way, so we'll have to wait for The Germans to cross our paths again.) She liked the compliment so much she gushed about it at the end of intermission to the woman sitting right behind us. (I don't think she saw my face because I leaned behind her ear. So that was also a nice case of Rigoletto-like mistaken identity.)
The woman right behind us had googly eyes pinned into her ornate hairstyle and googly eyes glued to her temple, and I give her a big thumbs-up for her effort as well.
I was speaking to the gift-shop attendant about how I cannot wear scarves. I leave the house with the scarf artfully pinned, it looks great, and by the time lunch comes one half of the scarf is choking me and the other half is entirely askew. She then tried to show me a way to arrange a scarf that the scarf artist had shown her, and after a long time, she thought she had it, looked in the mirror and said, "That's not right. What did I do wrong?"
And I said, "The scarf senses I am here. That's how bad I am with scarves."
I hadn't seen Rigoletto yet, or I would have said I was cursed.