Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Faux Pas

Last night at Graydon Carter’s playground, The Waverly Inn, inches from tuna tartare, feet from Anne Hathaway and neck-deep in swirling literati:

Me: Wasn’t he your Pushcart boyfriend?

Her: Pushcart? No, no, he won the Pen/Faulkner.

Me (half mock embarrassment/half real): I cannot believe I just mistook the Pushcart for the Pen/Faulkner! How gauche! I hope no one from Vanity Fair heard!

Francois: They did. But just for that joke, we won’t kick you out.

Catching up with the mentor and finally, finally getting back on track with my novel. With bad jokes like these, there’s no choice but to pretend to be a writer again…right?

And on our way out, the paparazzi took our picture…must have been the slowest night this year.


Anonymous said...

How did you get a reservation there? It's still so impossible to get in!

K said...

Oh, it was all my mentor. She goes there often and we kept it to the bar. I couldn't get a reservation there if my life depended on it.

Ha Ha Sound said...

The chicken pot pie is deeeelish. BTW, what's your novel about?