Stop me if you've heard this one.

Last night, I went swimsuit shopping. No wait it gets worse.

On my way to meet Kendra, I tripped in a puddle on 1st Ave and landed on my ass in the street, in front of a cavalcade of bicyclists. I was wearing white. I cut a hole in the top of my foot the size of a nickel, and had to hobble to a bodega to buy Bandaids.

I found a poem Kendra wrote about me that I never knew was about me. When you read a poem about yourself, you feel like the most important person in the world for about five seconds.

New Yorkers, mark your calendars for August 29. Excellence promised, details forthcoming.