So, I'm in this downtown lounge last night, called 2 Cats. And the space? Is just big enough to fit, oh, two cats. And maybe their owners. And perhaps a bottle of vodka.
So, it's clear then that this spot du nuit is a guaranteed success. The whole place is about as wide as your average subway car plus a couple of feet. Maybe. And it's only about as long as said subway car. In the middle of it, where the bar juts out, the standing room has been narrowed down to the space you need to make out with someone in a closet.
But the best part? And frankly, considering this, I have no idea how I got in... perhaps this is a testament to how fabulously I trowelled on the make-up last night... but the whole place is filled with The Beautiful People.
It was all late twenty-somethings and early thirty-somethings with funky hipster glasses and truly madcap hair that's been meringued and pomaded into place. There was not a comfortable shoe to be found. And my purse? Though truly lovely, with it's retro-50's shape and it's silver Asian embroidery on black satin... seriously, truly lovely. But... but... I'm not entirely convinced that it was the cutest in the bar. Ok? And that worries me. Honestly, I don't know how I got in! If I lose the Power of the Prettiest Purse, what else do I have to get me past the next discerning doorman?
God... what problems I have!
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