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Tomorrow I’ll fly the friendly skies and head to the Big Apple. I’m spending the weekend in the City of Light, Gotham, The City That Never Sleeps, Money Town. I’m going to ring the opening bell at the Stock Exchange and check out this place called Tiffany’s for breakfast. I heard it is amazing. Relationship saving, in fact.
After breakfast I’m going to take in a bit of exercise and run the steps of Lady Liberty before I meet Donald Trump for lunch. (Don’t tell him, but I really tried to get out of our lunch date. He just drones on and on, that man.)
I am going to pitch my book to a group of eager publishers from Random House and HarperCollins. I will dazzle them with my wit and unique writing style and then make them sweat the deal while I decide who to pick.
I’ll take the Cash Cab to Rockefeller Center and get every question right, scoring some cash for my evening out.
I’ll walk on the heads of people at the subway, desperate to get to my best friend whom I’ve not seen in months. I’ll throw my arms around her neck and the entire crowd will throw their arms up and cheer at our happy reunion.
She and I will walk in our Jimmy Choo’s, fabulous and happy and blister free down the streets of Manhattan. We will dine in our own private dining room at Per Se. We’ll eat fancy mushrooms and fish eggs and tender baby animals and enjoy a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.
We will stroll through Central Park after dinner where I will save a pregnant woman from a mugging. She will name her baby after me.
We will dance the night away at a club too exclusive to mention, and enjoy our VIP table and concierge service. The DJ will spin all of my favorite records and I’ll bring Ace of Base back.
I will nestle into bed in the penthouse of Trump Towers (he insists I stay there) before the sun fully rises and I’ll wake up refreshed and energized, ready for a repeat on Saturday!