The way to a man's heart...

Is through his stomach. If that's really true...I have not a clue. But, if that old chestnut is true, I may have proved it on Tuesday. I was crossing Broadway at 45th street and got hit in the head by what appeared to be rocket-propelled mustard. I guess it could have been worse, it could have been bird poo.

As if that weren't strange enough, five different men proceeded to tell me I smelled good. Now, I'm not sure if it was the grapefruit-scented perfume I was wearing, or the mustard...maybe they were just hungry.