“That’s gold! And I would know!”
“Now that’s gold.”
That’s what I thought at least as I was walking down 7th Avenue earlier today. I had just come from a massage and sauna, because let me tell you, getting dressed to grab a massage and sauna is tough work, and I needed my body to get loose. I left the spa, and as I sipped my complimentary glass of Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque champagne – I know it’s illegal to drink on the street, but really, who’s going to stop me? – I saw you sitting next to a puddle of your own urine with the most hilarious sign.
“I’m Just Dying… In Your Arms Tonight.”
I. Love. Cutting Crew. It was priceless, which means I could probably afford it.
I tell you, champagne came right out my nose, the bubbles burned my nostrils but I did not care. Your sign was really bringing up my day. You see, my massage wasn’t the best. Eleanor had taken vacation so I had work with Carol, and she just does not work my shoulders the way they need it. But your sign. My god, I was using my silk monogrammed handkerchief to wipe the tears from my eyes.
I hadn’t had a laugh like that since my step-mother fell from the second floor balcony of our summer home. I even considered asking you to write for the magazine I’m considering starting with my yacht club friends, but my limousine had arrived and I was late for lunch.
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