A woman and her Dolce and Gabbana bag

I hoped I looked presentable for the center of town. Four errands to run – copies for the new keys, pay the caterer, buy the newspapers and check the obituaries, close the bank account. But I was wearing a tank top and my hair was a frightful bird’s nest, and this was just not done in swanky East Hampton.

Three people stood in front of me at the hardware store. Why was it, when I needed to get keys, someone was outfitting his entire house and servants? He needed twelve copies of one key, six of another. But I got it done – and rushed over to the bank –

I ran into a Cindy Crawford lookalike when I turned the corner onto the sidewalk. Her Dolce and Gabbana bag went flying. A purse hit an elderly Episcopalian woman in the face, scarves scattered on the floor, and a pair shoes shimmied onto the street. Of course it had to happen – a Bentley convertible drove by and squashed them. There went $800 down the drain.

I sat down on the ground and burst into tears. This week had been hard enough.