What was all that clamor at the front desk as we were leaving Armani after dinner last night? I stood close to eavesdrop.  It seems a woman’s coat had disappeared.  “My coat’s been stolen,” said the complainant as she and her friends joined us in the romantic shadows of the elevator. (We held the doors open to get the scoop). How could that happen? At Armani’s.  Of course I wish I’d thought of it first.  Imagine getting to choose a replacement for your lost coat from all those racks of Armani musings. How was dinner? The pastas were definitely al dente.

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