Jeff called me last night as I was waiting for the L.A.M.B. fashion show to start, which sounds super glamorous but which actually consisted of me looking decidedly un-modely in a cardigan and flats, trying to cover a truly massive zit from the blown-out, clear-skinned, well-heeled fashionistas around me by pretending I had a really bad itch on my right temple. I probably ended up looking like I had facial psoriasis, or bedbugs. Good times.
Anyway, Jeff called, and I was all, Hi baby! I'm at a fashion show, and thank God you called because now I can hide my zit with my phone.
And he was all, Did you hear the news?
And I was all, What news? I'm in a small enclosed space with Debbie Harry and Gavin Rossdale! I hope they seal this shit in like The Truman Show.
And Jeff was like, Um, a tornado touched down in Brooklyn.
And I said, in all seriousness, Is our house still there?
And he said, joking, Probably not.
But the joke was on us, because that shit came within a block of our apartment building.
In Brooklyn, though, "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" doesn't really sound right. Maybe, "Uncle Sauly, Uncle Sauly--it's a twista!"