I left my heart (also a kidney and part of a lung) in San Francisco

Well, no. But that's what I would have had to leave had I bought what I really wanted at Britex. That place is gorgeous, and it has every kind of fabric you ever dreamed of and a lot you couldn't even dream of, not to mention buttons. I mean, buttons! WO! But dang, is that place expensive! There were some lovely lengths of yardage that you could hold in your hand and ponder, "Hmmmm. Shall I make a handbag with this, or BUY A NEW CAR?"

I couldn't leave with nothing (well, I couldn't!) so I headed straight for the 4th floor, where the remnants reside. Now, at Britex, the remnants aren't what you and I call remnants. I bought a couple of "remnants" that were more than 2 yards each. And they still weren't what I would call cheap, but at least I had the illusion of getting a bargain, because they mark what the price would have been right there on the tag: "Regular price: Lung, kidney, left arm, and your firstborn spawn. Sale price: Just the spawn."

It was a soggy, soggy day in the City by the Bay. Rick abandoned me there while he went to a meeting all day, which was the purpose of our visit. Usually, being abandoned on the streets of San Francisco would be pure joy, but on this day, my visions of strolling about and being the bon vivant were washed away into the gutter as I slogged from here to there looking for a place to stay dry. I sat in Borders long enough to read all the latest craft and sewing books I've been wanting to see, but since the only empty upholstered chair was in a remote corner between two former close associates of Charlie Manson, I had to sit on the floor near the remains of someone's Subway lunch. I wasn't the only one searching for a place to stay dry, I guess.

I finally landed in the lobby at the lovely Hyatt on Union Square, and proceeded to make a little corner my own. I made a sad little pile of my wet jacket and rain gear and took out all my reading material and my Diet Cokes, and then discovered that the Hyatt is a T-Mobile Hot Spot, so I could check in on my e-mail (boring). By the time Rick came for me, I was there in my own little Hobo Town. All I needed was a scruffy dog and a campfire. Did I mention I was also eating a soggy hot dog from the street cart? Well.

But then, as women often must, I had to transform in mere minutes from street tough to refined lady (not exactly refined in my case) so that we could go to the group dinner. We bailed our car out of the overpriced parking lot, and while Rick drove across town, I stripped off my wet clothes and changed right there in the front seat. He warned me once that a bus was coming alongside, and I said that if the people on that bus could get a thrill out of seeing me in my underpants then they were welcome to it.

We ended the day having an oh so lovely dinner with the oh so loveliest people, and I got my chance at bon vivantness after all. If only those lovely people could have seen me in my own little Hyatt Hobo Town. Or in my underpants in the front seat. Oh my.