A Good New York Moment

Some nights (okay, most nights), I come home to my modest apartment and my unfabulous, average, non-designer-label, non-Tinsley Mortimer existence and think, "Fuck you, New York."

Tonight, though, over wine, I talked to a guy from Peru and a guy from El Salvador, each who had been here far longer than my four years. During it all, I was wearing a respectable-looking wrap dress and drinking decent pinot noir, and I thought, "I love you, New York." You can't get this diversity at the average Stop 'n' Shop, no matter how humorous their commercials. I told my South/Central American guys I was from the Midwest, and they looked at me blankly, as if I had told them I was from the planet Tron and was on Earth to further our species. I love that. I love that "Midwest" has no different connotation than "Upper East Side" when I'm talking to New Yorkers who've earned that title.

I live for these nights. No pretension. No labels. Just wine and pleasantries and a general feeling of goodwill.