Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. I was a little grouchy and sore, pouty and can-kicky. I mean, L. is only like my oldest friend in New York, the repository of some of my most ridiculous stories (do not ask about her mother’s underwear), go-to Thanksgiving holiday pal (home of the infamous seven-layer salad), the sort who will, it appears, stick with me til the end, even after that time I called like eleventy-billion times from Googie’s across the street and then proceeded to frighten her out of her wits with my early-twenties shenanigans. Of course I’m a little mad that her thoughts are turning toward leaving the city. With a boy. Still, when I can see past the nose on my face, I’m glad L.’s in love, a love she glowed about while I made quick work of my sandwich upstairs at the city hall Whole Foods. Can’t think of anybody who deserves it more.