And I asked Henry, my bartending friend, if I should bother dating unfamous men

I think I loathe the new W.

I used to like the rooftop of the Hotel Washington. The food was mediocre, but it was such a nice place to have drinks and hang out. It was friendly and low key with a beautiful view.

And now, now it's all Very Important and Extremely Annoying.

You walk towards the elevator and a beautiful skinny woman dressed in black asks where you're going and you tell her and then it is all, "Oh, do you have a reservation? No? Well, you could go up to the standing room only section."

"Uh, OK."

"The beautiful skinny woman in black - no, not her, the other beautiful skinny woman in black - will take you up in the elevator. And then you can go out onto the roof and feel inadequate."

So we did this. Three friends and I, all in cute outfits with good shoes - because it was a DATE! With each other! Because, yay! We are moms, and we go out pretty much never. Happy hour! With other people taking care of our kids! Let's try the W!

So it's not like we were under-dressed. Or like any of us are provincial.

I think it's just the W.

Although I don't remember being made to feel like I was just so lucky to be there at other Ws.

So we went to the roof. On a hot as balls day. The balls hotness I cannot blame on the W.

The irritating pretentiousness, though? Definitely.

We arrived about 5:30. Which is when we were told that we could stand. We figured it would be super crowded.

There were about 10 people up there. With a jillion empty tables and chairs, all with reserved signs on them. It wasn't like you were jostling for the standing room.

You were just, well, standing.

The bartender was nice, and he said it's that they get reserved for dinner, so they have to put the signs up early. But we could sit until someone with reservations arrived for their table.

Just at that point, though, two bar stools opened up. We took them.

I learned then and there it was better to stand. Because that way the sweat could run all the way down your legs. Rather than pooling in your butt crack.

It was that kind of hot. And I am that kind of charming.

So we decided, we're here, the view is great, we'll have one glass of wine, and then we go inside or elsewhere.

I'd have been amenable to going inside until they decided it was time to take away our stools.

Seriously.

The guy said, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask for your stools."

And then he took them away! Everybody stand now!

At which point we decided it was time to head elsewhere.

I think that if I ever want to feel inadequate while I drink, I'm just going to stay home with a Vogue magazine and a bottle of wine. At least it'll be air conditioned, and nobody's taking my chair away.