Dear Diary,

The three of us used to live in the same city, but life had scattered us across the country, as life often does. All the same, my friends and I would meet once a year in NYC to relive our glory days. 

During one such reunion, my friend splurged and booked us at the Plaza. It was just for a single night, but afterwards, we considered ourselves established guests. We stopped in or walked by anytime we were in the city, just to say hello. 

On our most recent visit, we decided to pop in for Sunday tea and were horrified to find a long line of people waiting to be seated. When we finally reached the front of the line, the host informed us that it would be impossible to get a table without a reservation.

“This is ridiculous,” my friend announced to no one in particular. “He’s Liza Minnelli’s nephew!” (I’m not.)

The host gave us some serious side-eye. “I’ll give you seats at the bar.”

I consider it a win; I bet Eloise herself wouldn’t have been able to get a table that day.