QotD: Why don't you ever wear a scarf? It doesn't need to be cold outside for your neck to feel naked.

1927: A quarter of a century before my birth, but still the memory seems like my own. A beautiful dancer, swathed in an iridescent silk scarf, walks along the Promenade de Anglais in Nice, perhaps thinking of her two young children, who fourteen years earlier had plunged into the Seine in a deadly automobile accident. At ten o’clock she steps into a convertible, instructs the driver to take her to her hotel. He obeys, and as they speed along, the end of her scarf catches the rear wheel, and as it winds, it throttles her, pulls her from the car, drags her along the street.

1967: I do not wear a scarf. Let the boys see my naked neck, let them lust, let them dream of stroking up and kissing my lips, let them envision stroking down to hidden treasures.

2007: I do not wear a scarf. Age begins to take its toll. Still, I flaunt the flesh now losing its firmness, now showing a line or two. There are men who still lust, who still dream, who with proper persuasion have their dreams fulfilled.

2047: I do not wear a scarf. My naked neck has gone shar pei. Let them stare at the relic I have become, let them turn away in nervous fright, let them study me and hope to attain my years.

2087: I do not wear a scarf. I have broken what was thought to be the barrier to human longevity. I will do what I damn well please.

2127: Ha! That son I gained so long, long ago by flaunting my naked neck at his father has discovered the immortal gene. You’re stuck with me, and I will never wear a scarf.