Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Perky Hilton

This has been a fun week so far. First, I got to eat in two fabulous restaurants: Saul in Brooklyn and La Goulou on the Upper East Side. I ate food I can't pronounce both times and consumed two Michelin stars altogether. ((Now that Michelin has started nudging its opinions into New York, I can't even tell you what Zagat says about those restaurants. It's just so much easier to say, "It got two stars" instead of "This cramped but stylish bistro is hip with the size 2 fashionistas, but watch out for grumpy servers and raisins in the rice."

Secondly, through the course of my job--which I will never discuss here thanks to Dooce and Krucoff--I got to wear a 40-karat diamond ring yesterday. The salesman, in jest, slipped the rock on my ring finger ((of course it fit over my suddenly elegant knuckle perfectly)) and I barely felt the weight of the Chup-Chup sized jewel. Why, I suddenly started declaring statements in mah best suuthern accent, and ah just could not take mah eyes off that purty thing. I was wa-aving at people in the showroom, just flipping my hand back and forth to catch the light so it could twinkle. I felt like a Hilton sister. Perky Hilton, the chunky heiress who dates Alabama shipping magnates instead of the Greek variety. Who knew I'd be so easily transformed into a princess. One gigantic, shiny rock will do it.

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