Give Him a Hand
Dear Diary:
I got into a cab on a rainy night to go see my child’s nanny in a play on the Lower East Side. I had an umbrella, my bag and a tote with me.
When I got to the theater, I got out of the cab quickly and forgot my tote. Oh, well.
Just before the play started, the driver appeared, walked to the front of the theater and asked whether anyone in the audience had left a tote in his cab.
It’s mine, I shouted.
As I got up to retrieve it, he received a standing ovation.
— Natalie Epstein
Banana Split
Dear Diary:
It was the 1960s, and my piggy bank was filled with nickels, dimes and quarters from my allowance and doing extra chores: hanging clothes on the clothesline outside the window of our second-floor apartment, scrubbing floors, vacuuming and demolishing spider webs.
The multicolored string of balloons over the lunch counter at F.W. Woolworth had caught my eye many times.
