I've said before that if a guy reaches my age, he spends more and more time among women who have forgotten what it was they ever saw in men. Here's an instance: coming home from the opera the other night, a woman in our crowd said “let's have one more drink!” We settled in at the hotel bar: without blink the initiator popped for a $245 bottle of champagne which, you will have to agree, is a fine way to make friends.
But I fairly quickly realized that I was alone among three women. And almost as quickly, that I was playing out the script for a lost episode of Sex and the City. Not being able to decide whether I was Carrie or Miranda, I wordlessly slipped away from the table; I went for a lovely walk in the St. Petersburg White Nights, and thence to bed. The party, I am told, went on for another couple of hours. I don't think anyone missed me.