on the virtures of clean underwear

As any skunk, deer, or raccoon along Interstate 80 can tell you, there's nothing remotely funny about being hit by a bus -- not even the Peter Pan kind. To almost be hit, however, is something entirely different, and can actually make for a memorable afternoon.

Especially if you're standing outside the Met, there's a giant puddle involved, and -- in exchange for your life -- you get drenched instead in what I'll call 'water-plus' [plus what? plus dirt, and grime, and oil, dead skin cells of upper east siders, etc.] that makes the kind used to cook those hotdogs sold at the steps to the museum look like holy water.

It also helps if your art companion for the day is similarly sprayed, and if instead of the water ruining your Sunday, she helps to make it. As she tends to these days.