Fat Editor

I was just tottering down Leroy Street feeling 15 months' pregnant and wondering why Showtime hadn't sent over my contract, when I got catcalled from a Manhattan Fruit Exchange truck.** At this point I'll take what I can get.*

I want to apologize for my absence -- my mojo is missing. I am also very far behind on e-mail to people I love, and if this includes you, I am heartily sorry! It's just that my Summons to Nashville was complicated in some ways, and also that my purely theoretical direct supervisor in my entirely hypothetical job has moved away to a fantasy Amelie apartment in Paris, thus leaving me at sixes and septs. It's taking me a while to get back on top of things.

*Last week I dreamed I was Carnie Wilson, pre-gastric bypass.

** A few months ago on this same block, a guy walked by with a dolly and asked in a matter-of-fact way if I was single. I said no, and he said, "Okay, I just thought I'd help you out!" and walked away. I've been puzzled ever since, because I don't think "help you out" was some kind of euphemism; he was too businesslike for that. Was he going to put me on that dolly and wheel me to where all the single straight men are (presumably in a holding pen in Madison Square Garden)? We'll never know. In the meantime, single ladies looking for "help" should frequent Leroy between Seventh and Hudson.