“I just wrote the ‘C as in cat,’” I said, staring at the yellow post-it note in total bemusement.
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes. I did. You said, ‘Apartment 5C, as in cat.’ And that is what I wrote down.”

Benjamin had called me at work where I function in, Everything is Literal mode, and where very often, the difference between being right and being fired lies in the accuracy of my note-taking skills. They’re clearly very polished.

Ditz.

Later, after leaving his apartment where very little furniture got arranged (two very different people and one very big problem being decisive), I popped in to Gristedes for some sorbet. I asked for cash back, punched in my pin number, took my receipt, my sorbet and headed home. Up the elevator and inside my apartment, I straightened the kitchen, ordered Italian and… realized, I’d no cash to pay for it. Mmm hmm. I didn’t actually take any of that ‘cash back’ I’d paid for. So back across the street I went. Luckily, they believed my tale and coughed up the cash.

Ditz.

I’m not altogether sure it’s safe to get out of the apartment today. Thankfully, my Boston girlfriends are due in shortly and they can act as safety buffers to the big mean world. They’re chock full of common sense. Which is great -- I seemed to have spent mine on cab fare.