So I am frantically searching my room on the upper east side at 6:10 trying to get to a 6:30 dinner in union square. I am tossing shirts, shoes, socks, and underwear at roughly 95 miles an hour to my laundry basket in the corner without looking up. As I search for an earring backing the size of a grain of sand in the giant pile of crap, one of my clothing fastballs leaves my hand at an odd angle, and I look up and watch my favorite black bra miss the basket and go right, sailing directly out my 20th story 6 inch open window (if I had been aiming for it, it would have been a better than a half-court shot).

At this point I scramble to the window to see my faithful companion float all the way down to land sadly on the cold concrete. In a panic I race for the elevators shoeless and in pj’s, go down and fly straight out past my doorman and about 9 other people awaiting their dates downstairs, only to find the alleyway locked. I have to go back and ask my doorman, in front of the entire lobby, to unlock the alley so I can fetch my bra. After an embarrassingly long round of laughter, he called someone to unlock it. I got my bra back, and a standing ovation from the lobby audience as I walked back in in triumph.

We cancelled our reservation and ordered in Chinese.

Happy Valentine’s Day.