Another day, another over-the-top Victorian Christmas tea party for three year-olds at a billion-dollar loft in SoHo.
And as a point of interest, Vicodin isn't so much a party drug as a birthday party drug.
I kid. Sipping Veuve Cliquot beside an artificial, twenty-foot Christmas tree while my daughter decorated four (4) pink cupcakes with Santa Claus faces and tiny, edible reindeer was quite enough to nudge my entire world into the Surreal. Did I mention that all of the toilet seats in this home were heated? I'm assuming all, but Edie & I only tried out two of them. We discovered the first after Edie ran into the living room completely bare-assed - her tights down around her knees - exclaiming, "Mommy! Mommy! I need to go to the bathroom but the seat is hot!"
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