Henry Humphry and I were meeting in New York City. He was my account executive with the Abbot Kimball Advertising Agency, and a very charming fellow.

Looking at his watch, he said, "I've got to be leaving in a minute. One of Abbot's fashion clients is having a show. Want to come along?"

I shrugged, but when he added, "It's a line of intimate apparel," I nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

The show was held in a large room circled by chairs but not with a runway as I'd expected. We were sitting in the front row. It was an exciting event for one not in the trade, at least it was for me.

The commentator - perhaps she was the Marketing Director of the line - stopped a particularly lovely model in front of me and asked, "Feel the scrim?"

I had no idea what to reach for, so I did nothing. It was an awkward moment I think both the model and the commentator privately enjoyed.

Later, I looked up the word "scrim." It turns out it's not a part of a woman's body but a light, sheer loosely woven fabric. Even then, I'd have to get very close to feel it.