The following is a guest post by my husband, Pierre.
Day one in the Big Apple
Like every day, this day really began the night before when Donna (she who must be obeyed, and no eye-rolling) informed me that we had to meet her buddies from the hood (Avis, Tina, Cindy and Linda) at 9:00 a.m. WTF, I shouted, and not the annoying acronym either. That meant waking up at 7:00 a.m., something that my doctor told me never ever to do the way I drink. But there was nothing for it. By the time room service came with the breakfast at 8:00 a.m., I already knew that I had grown a brain tumor overnight. I was dizzy and my head felt other-worldy and brain-tumory. The breakfast sausages were clearly a cruel joke by the hotel staff; they looked like cadaver fingers, the kind that are dragged out of the lake a few weeks after the accident, but I ate them anyway. Thankfully, I was miraculously healed by noon and then spent a great day doing stuff. Not sure exactly what, but I'm sure it was fun.