Bono

“You know my friend Maggie,” Lydia said, as we joined the sidewalk throng.

Keeping up with my offspring’s friends is always a challenge.

“She has a pedometer,” Lydia went on. “Maggie found out she takes more steps when she’s shopping with her mum than when she exercises on purpose.”

“Really?” I said. “Well, we’d better keep going.” I was grateful for any excuse to delay finding out what Bono was up to.

We headed on to Macy’s, Herald Square, where I was expecting her to be overwhelmed by the scale of one of the world’s largest department stores.

A religion more than a store, Macy’s has a calendar of festivals, the most famous being the Thanksgiving Day Parade, which has been featured in countless movies and TV shows, from Sweet Charity to Friends. More than eight thousand participants march, float, and pulsate their way through Manhattan’s streets. Christmastime is no less exciting, with dazzling window displays and thousands of shoppers taking the elevator to Santaland on the eighth floor.

A spring flower show featuring a life-sized elephant statue bedecked with blossoms was in full swing while we were there, but we never found it.

The moment we stepped through Macy’s doors into a heated labyrinth of leather goods I wanted to turn and run for fresh air. But Lydia became calm and clear-eyed, like a predator prowling a fertile plain. She stepped softly through rows of brightly colored purses of every conceivable shape and size. I trailed after her until she stopped at a display of animal print bags, which my penny-wise daughter pointed out, were reduced by 30 percent.

If I’d gone out to buy her a handbag, I’d have opted for something in line with her classic taste—modest and beige. But New York was having a radical impact on my daughter. She was entranced by a shoulder bag in a giraffe-skin pattern with tan trimmings. As she took it from its hook and opened the zipper to reveal a scarlet lining, her face lit up. Conservative Lydia of the neutral ballet pumps and thrift shop cardigans was becoming a fashion tigress. We bought it.

“What do you think Bono’s doing?” she asked.

I was trying not to think about him.

“He’ll be having a rest,” I said.

We rode a befuddling number of escalators. By the time we reached the children’s clothing department, my feet were aching and my head was spinning like a potato in a microwave. Still, I found enough stamina to pick up a couple of dresses for the granddaughters.

“Would you mind taking these back with you?” I asked Lydia.

“Don’t you want to take them back yourself to give them to the girls?”

I didn’t like to tell her that at this rate my granddaughters could be teenagers by the time I gave up on New York and went home.

With a pang of guilt, I went on to the men’s department. Philip always liked a new shirt. I sifted through a pile and picked out a jaunty red checked one, a good weight for the Australian winter ahead. If I stayed on in New York, it might not be possible to deliver it in person. Still, it would be easy enough to wrap it up and send it to him from the post office next to Grand Central.

“What about Ramon?” I called to Lydia, who was drifting away.

She looked blank. Maybe they weren’t a serious couple, after all.

“Aren’t you taking something home for him?” I said fingering a pale purple T-shirt. “What size is he?”

Lydia didn’t know.

“Is he anything like my size?” a deep mahogany voice asked.

A breathtakingly handsome African American man smiled at me from the other side of the T-shirt pile. He was draping an identical purple T-shirt across his athletic torso.

“What size are you?” I asked smoothing the cotton against his solid pecs.

“Extra large,” he said with a gentle smile. “But sometimes I’m just large.”

It had been a long time since I’d thought about sex. Strange how not thinking about it can become almost as habitual as thinking about it. Most of the time I love not thinking about sex. It’s empowering. It wasn’t until I reached an age when I could be confident 99.99 percent of the population would not dream of regarding me as a sensual being that I was released to drift unmolested through any situation.

To all good-looking women who fear the day heads no longer swivel when they enter a room, I say come on in. The water’s fabulous. I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to know that any man who approaches me now is, in all sincerity, asking for directions. Or offering to help choose the right sized T-shirt. Not since I was 5 years old and thought mummies and daddies ordered babies from hospitals have I felt so unconstrained.

I can honestly say that since the world became a giant selfie, there’s no better place to be than on the sidelines. Not thinking about sex or who I have to impress has freed me up to have a life. My brain is primed for friendship, crosswords, speaking my mind, and talking to birds (if they feel like listening).