Reading about Eliot Spitzer kind of makes me feel distraught like he’s the ex-boyfriend I never had. And I don’t care who reading this blog feels I am ill-equipped to add an original voice to the cacophony already tap-tapping away about the E-man. Because I agree with you. Nothing novel here. Just sadness. Would it be trite to say that if he can do this- who can’t? So for the ladies out there: how long does it take to trust again and get a new boyfriend?
(Admission: I went to a wine tasting tonight. It was fun, even with the German guy telling us Americans were inferior, but he liked all the people he met in Houston on business. We were like: Houston? Oh that’s good. That’s a regular old slice of Americana right there.)