In New York City (which I first talked about in this post), we were fortunate enough to stay in an awesome location--on the West Side of Manhattan, one block from Times Square. In the fashion district. Like on "Project Runway."
For those of you who have not been reading this blog for the nearly ten years I've been writing it, you may not know that I have a HUGE crush on Tim Gunn. ("Who the heck is Tim Gunn?" you might ask. Well, dear reader, I will tell you.)
Back when I was young and thin(ner), Bravo produced a show featuring a competition of aspiring fashion designers. Their mentor was a dapper, elegant, sincere man by the name of Tim Gunn. (No, he was NOT Peter Gunn's brother. I checked.)
I love Tim Gunn.
If I met him and he liked me, I would marry him.
If he were the marryin' kind.
Tim would corral the designers in the workshop at the Parsons, and they would sew their little fingers off. (I once sewed into my finger, and then reflexively yanked my finger out and the needle BROKE OFF INSIDE MY FINGER which is another story for another day. Tuesday, to be exact.) Anyhoo...Tim was kind and gentle and patient and fashionable and good. And I loved him.
I didn't really care about the clothes.
The culminating activity on "Project Runway" was a fashion show in Bryant Park, which was right around the corner from our hotel.
I staked it out.
In the thirty-eight degree rain.
Because I would do anything to get a glimpse of Tim Gunn. Maybe he would like me.
And apologize for not being the marryin' kind.