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April 13, 2012
I'm at the posh David Yurman Townhouse for some sort of function, dolled up like a girl, hobnobbing with two slightly catty men in jackets whose names I've forgotten moments after the introduction. I can't get a word in edgewise, which is fine, because this means my participation is limited to pretending to listen. My mind is wandering to more pressing matters such as how soon can not only detach myself from their droning company in particular but from this way-too-polished shindig in general and bolt home to the comfort of pajamas, my cat, and the hiss of the radiator.