The minute the climes change so does my desire to drink.
Summer always puts me in a state of swoon where ice tinkling in a glass becomes my best company. I’ve already hunkered down in winter mode, coffee at the Carlyle, my new, overpriced nip of choice.
As I sit on the brocaded banquette wrapped in a cashmere shawl looking like a very chic holy picture, there are three men facing me across the room…slumped, glassy-eyed…clearly intoxicated.
One’s hair is standing straight up like the Chrysler Building.
When the waiter in his winter whites asks if they’d like coffee, they look at him like he’s from Mars. Finally one says in what sounds like an Australian accent, “Ah yes, good idea,” winking at the waiter slyly.
The one in the middle nods while the Chrysler Building blinks proceeding to doze.
Did they realize they were at a 5-star hotel?
If not, they will, when they get the bill.