2:00 to 2:01 p.m. 
I take a minute to wonder why I wasn't invited to the dinner party...and decide to be deeply relieved. 

2:02 to 3:30 p.m. 
I pay bills, fold laundry, write two thank-you notes for gifts I received last January, throw away everything that's gone furry or blue in my refrigerator, and wait for the nice man from Bloomingdale's to come and clean my filthy, horrible sofa.4:00 p.m The nice man from Bloomingdale's actually turns out to be a nice man. He tells me not to waste my money—cotton velvet isn't cleanable. The news hits me hard. I can roll with Iraq and global warming, but somehow the thought that cotton velvet doesn't clean well makes me want to crawl under the throw on my filthy, horrible sofa and never get up again. 

4:00 p.m 
The nice man from Bloomingdale's actually turns out to be a nice man. He tells me not to waste my money—cotton velvet isn't cleanable. The news hits me hard. I can roll with Iraq and global warming, but somehow the thought that cotton velvet doesn't clean well makes me want to crawl under the throw on my filthy, horrible sofa and never get up again. 

4:02 p.m. 
I get up again. I am ghostwriting a book, and four chapters are due by Wednesday morning. Clinical depression is a luxury I can't afford. 

6:20 p.m. 
Suppertime. I cook wild salmon and broccoli for Colonel Cranky...of course, that's only if you define the word cook as "go to the little gourmet shop on First Avenue, buy and reheat." In any case, she will end up having spaghetti with butter and ketchup. 

7:00 p.m.
Before leaving, Lidra changes her clothes to go to a party. Did I mention that she's stunning? Did I mention that she's a size 0? Did I mention that I pulled a strand of ketchup-coated spaghetti out of my bra?