Saturday night, NYC. The occasion: my college roomie's 30th birthday (Craftbar, excellent as always). I broke my own rule and wore dark rinse jeans in July (JBrand that go with everything), so I shouldn't be too surprised that I arrived home at 11pm drenched in sweat and rain.
While waiting for the LIRR (suburbanites must take mass transit when they travel into the City, or else risk summer gridlock and astronomical parking garage bills) it started to drizzle. I realized quickly that I had wasted 50 minutes ironing my hair with one hand, while fighting my infant off of my leg and out of the baby un-proofed bathroom cabinets with the other. The drizzle turned immediately to pouring rain, the kind that drenches sidewalks, hot with summer sun, which then release that musty, soaking smell into the suffocating air. The train crept into the station, and continued its snails pace ascent into the summer hell known as Penn Station. Still some time to spare before dinner (I am obsessively early to all events) I was able to stop at my favorite JCrew in Flatiron for a peak at the sale rack. (One solitary tweed No. 2 pencil in a size 2 for $20.99, reduced from $128? score.)
Dinner was fabulous, and a unique chance to see a few college friends that I havent seen since before I had Tucker (and who I used to drink Raspberry Smirnoff and Diet Coke from plasitc cups with at the Jersey Shore). Headed back hurriedly to Hell Station with that pressing urgency of knowing you could miss the last train back to LI, I couldn't catch a cab, stepped into one of those bottomless puddles that gather on street corners after summer downpours, and made it with fresh blisters, soaking wet pants that I could barely sit in, and 3 minutes to spare. Fittingly, I ended up sitting across from 3 drunk, loud girls from the south shore who had gotten on my Oyster Bay train in error. They too made the poor choice of denim in July, but the loudest of the 3 decided she'd take her pants off to rectify the situation. Never a dull moment after 10pm on the LIRR.