You’re The Best

It was a ridiculous night, one which will be known in my mind at least as “Slushpocalypse.”  A few inches of unexpected wet November snow brought New York City to a standstill, traffic-wise.  It was one of those nights where you see how thin the veneer of civilization really is.  I’m convinced we’re a couple of snafus away from going back to being ridge-browed grunting hunter-gatherers, except we’ve all forgotten how to hunt and gather.


I would have stayed home that evening like any rational human being but for the fact that I was due downtown to try a $30,000 whisky which I was very excited to sample. The honor was a pretty exclusive one, too — I was to be one of only two writers to have sampled all four editions of said rare and expensive whisky (this was the fourth).  So I was not about to miss it.

The car service which had been arranged for me, however, had other ideas.  The publicist’s assistant, Ashley, frantically called me a few minutes before I was supposed to be picked up, informing me that my car couldn’t make it, BUT that she’d arranged for another car to pick me up and it’d be there momentarily.  “Thanks, Ashley,” I said. “You’re the best.”

Weevy, who’d been ignoring me and playing on her computer all evening, immediately perked up.  “Are you cheating on Mommy?!”

“Uhhh… what?”

“I heard you. Talking to ASHLEY.  You just told her she’s the best.”

Now, Ashley is a lovely girl, and I was truly grateful that she’d put in so much effort to get me to this event, but anyone who knows her and knows me knows that I would not be cheating on my wife with her. Except Weevy, I suppose. “I meant she’s the best publicist, not the best girlfriend, you silly.” I’m not sure she believed me, but she gave me a bit of a glare and went back to her computer.

This wasn’t the first time Weevy has said weird shit like that to me. Occasionally I’ll take her out with female friends of mine and at some point during the proceedings, she’ll say, “Are you guys dating?” Never with any judgement implied — she just seems curious. I’m not even sure she knows what dating is at age eight, but it would certainly be an unusual arrangement if the answer was “yes.”  Which it is most certainly NOT (that’s intended both for future Weevy and current wife, when they read this).

Oh, and if you’re interested, I wound up making it to the whisky tasting. By subway, because no car service could make it. The $30,000 whisky tasted all the sweeter because my fellow booze scribe decided to skip the event entirely, making me the ONLY writer who has tasted all four vintages of this particular series. I mentioned Weevy’s comment both to Ashley, who was mortified, and her boss, who thought it was hilarious. I think you have to have children to really appreciate stuff like that.