We headed a couple stops south on the 1 to go to buy some pretty undergarments for ourselves. I think a lot of people... well, a lot of men would be really surprised by all the technicality and pulling and pushing and stretching and tucking that goes into fitting a brassiere properly. It was the first time I'd had anybody be so thorough, and I can't imagine going back to the children that they've begun hiring other lingerie stores. (I'm good with teens having jobs, but I don't want somebody that's been alive for less time than I've been having my period to tell me how my bra should fit. At least give me somebody who might understand something about gaining and losing more than puberty weight. I digress.)
From there we headed further uptown to meet some lovelies (Leah, Niki, wonderful) and have a little bite and see a classical music recital. This is a perfect example of how we grew up amongst the most wonderful folks in the world: We grew up in the same neighborhood as Sarah, and she and Leah are still very close, and Sarah lives in NY with her girlfriend who is a professional pianist. She was playing in a show that night, which Sarah had written Leah about, so Leah passed the word so we all trotted downtown and culturized ourselves. It was warm and wonderful and lovely.
Megan and I ended up cutting out a little early because we wanted to get dinner at her favorite local haunt, an Italian place called Pisticci that's just around the corner from her apartment. We sat right at the bar and started with one of the more delicious cocktails I've had in a while, involving whiskey, reduced apple cider, and just a bit of cinnamon - perfect for the bitter cold that we were still moving through. We had a decent bottle of wine and some quality comfort food that was perfect that night. The highlight was the spinach salad with pancetta and the funny friendly employees who laughed at almost all of my funny bits. (Definitely not the tiramisu that Megan forced down my throat at the end that I was much too full and drunk to appreciate. Sorry Megan.)
We were very happy by the time we got home three minutes later, and I fell on the floor and almost peed my pants when Megan tried pulling down the blinds but instead pulled the whole thing off and knocked over a vase with dead flowers and then could just stand there and say, "shit". About half hour later when I finally got off the floor and stopped taking funny pictures of Megan (which are all actually too fuzzy to tell what they are) we drank as much water as we could while balancing out the high culture we had experienced earlier by watching Jersey Shore on her computer.