This week I’ve been unfaithful a couple of times.
Instead of going to the restaurant where I usually dine when I’m in New York I went to Via Quadronno.
Tonight I went back to my significant other, as far as an Italian restaurant can be a significant other of course.
Nobody had noted my absence; at least that’s what I thought.
But then the coat check lady came to my table and she said: “I haven’t seen you in a while. What did you do with your face? You look so much younger.”
“Nothing,” I answered.
“I want to know your secret,” the coat check lady – who in summertime is more a greeter than a coat check lady – insisted.
“Nothing, seriously. Nothing. I don’t think I look younger.”
“If you use a special cream let me know the name of it.”
I was flabbergasted. This is what unfaithfulness does to you; it makes you look younger.