My friend Joanna came and stayed with me during my sojourn here in New York (or, as I call it to amuse my mother, my vacation from my vacation).

The audio recording went very well. I cried in a few places, but not, you know, uncontrollable sobbing, so I think it's going to be okay. You'll be happy to know that I restrained myself from any references to having a fever, for which the only cure was more cowbell.

I think this was the most star-style treatment I've ever gotten in my life. "Is the temperature in there okay? Do you want anything special to eat or drink? Are you tired? Do you want to take a break?"

Everyone was really nice to me, and, best of all, because I turned out to be kind of a fast reader, I got to add in some scenes that were cut during the abridgment.

The one drawback: I was bummed to learn that I wouldn't get to say the line "Little Earthquakes, by Jennifer Weiner, read by the author."

"We'll have someone say that for you," the very gracious producer explained.

"So I don't get to say 'read by me?'"

"No," she said nicely. "You don't."

Anyhow. We did a little shopping last night, and on the way back to the hotel Joanna announced that she had to go home, because she was out of underwear.

"We can buy underwear!" I said. "We're in New York! They have everything!"

"O-kay," she said. "I guess I could wash them in the sink."

"Why do you have to wash them if they're new?"

Joanna gaped at me. "You don't wash your new underwear before you wear them?"

I gaped right back. "You DO?!?!"

So there we were, shlepping up Fifth Avenue. "I know there's a Lord & Taylor here somewhere," I said.

"Somewhere," said Joanna.

"Hey, Joanna," I said. "You know, sometimes, not only do I NOT wash the underwear that come packed in plastic, I buy underwear RIGHT OFF THE TABLE where strangers have been pawing through them, and I don't wash them, either!"

(Not actually true, but I so enjoyed the look on her face at the thought of it).

We walked a few more blocks. No Lord & Taylor in sight. But we did see....a Duane Reade.

"I bet Duane Reade has underwear," I said.

"Duane Reade," said Joanna, "does not have underwear."

"Maybe they do! Maybe we should check!"

So into the Duane Reade we went, and, sure enough. Underwear. I got a three-pack, just to keep her company, and I tried to talk her into buying an eyepatch and then wearing it and talking like a pirate all night, but she shot me down.

We walked out of Duane Reade with our underwear, and got in a cab, and as soon as we turned the corner...

"Oh, look!" said Joanna. "Victoria's Secret!"

Damn.

So now I'm hanging out in my hotel room with Joe Weiner, waiting for my mother, who's stuck in traffic, to deliver La Lu to my door.

 

Jen