I was so excited to be going to a grown-up, wine-sipping, cheese-eating, book writing, hob-nobbing, meet & greet shindig that I showed up fashionably late and a week early.
Yeah. The glamorous hostess stood at the front door, her hair disheveled, her t-shirt stained with marinara, her cat winding about her ankles and said, “Oh, honey, did you think it was this weekend?”
“No, of course not. Here’s a bottle of wine. I was just… passing through the neighborhood.”
Actually, I had been wandering lost in the neighborhood, bleeding into my heels as I walked block after block because the address 1501 had transmogrified to 1801 and when 1801 turned out to be a liquor store I knew my brain had done its thing again.
You know when you check the piece of paper that has the address and the date of the event on it to make sure you got it right?
Really fucking helps if you bring that piece of paper along.
And charge your phone.