Sunday is off to a slow (not in the wonderful, leisurely sense of the word but rather the “dragging my feet and struggling with the weight of my eyelids” sense) start.
Blame it on that slinky little devil Saturday night…she gets me every time.
Last night Bess and I happily accepted an invitation to a rooftop cocktail party on the lower east side.
Call me childish, but I dare anyone, anyone to tell me glowing in the dark doesn’t make everything better. Everyone, shrouded in the night sky, suddenly twinkling like their very own star.
We danced and drank and then drank and danced some more.