I was in New York for 62 hours this weekend for my engagement party. During these 62 hours, I got to be Carrie Bradshaw. I arrived in New York on Friday night with a little black dress and a dream—a dream that I could find The Perfect Shoes, The Perfect Earrings, and Figure Out The Perfect Hairstyle in 24 hours. On Saturday morning, I found incredible black and gold Fendi heels at a designer resale shop on the Upper East Side. After lecturing me for not bringing my actual dress to the shop so she could approve of them with the shoes, she agreed to sell me perfect, super-glittery earrings for $20. After some back and forth, she released the shoes, too. I told her I wanted to do my hair, and showed her what I was thinking, which she informed me (accurately) I could do “messy-messy, but not “sexy-messy…for sexy-messy, you need professional.” Her boyfriend told me to go to the Israeli-Russian salon two blocks away. I then remembered that in New York, everything is two blocks away, and everything can be done in the next five minutes. I went to the Israeli-Russian salon, which was playing Turkish music and Beyonce on rotation, and said breathlessly, “do you have time to do a walk-in updo?” “Of course,” the hairdresser at the front desk, who was drinking wine, said, “you’re my 4th walk-in updo of the week.” She oohed and ahhhed over my engagement ring, and proceeded to bobby-pin and hairspray my hair into a sticky blonde helmet that could cut your hand. I looked like I was going to the prom in the 1940s. I loved it. On my way out, already running totally late, she looked at my nail-polishless nails and asked me exactly what my plans were for them. “I don’t have time,” I said. “6 minutes,” she said. “Nails and Now. Two blocks down.” I ran out into the street, into the rain, past a wedding, a public school art opening, two hot dog vendors, a woman in huge sunglasses and brown boots with a 4 year old child wearing nearly the same outfit, into Nails and Now. I explained the situation and they immediately went to work. I was out of there in 6 minutes exactly. Three women in the salon helped me with my bag, coat, and Fendi shoes, and all of them were cheering for me to make it to the party with as little time to spare and as much fabulous as my body parts and New York’s beauty experts could collaborate on. The party was amazing, and the hair, shoes, and nails were a big hit. I felt like New York’s darling for the night. Every woman should have a night like this. Now I understand why Sex & the City will never be allowed to die--Carrie Bradshaw will be in demand until her stilettos are filmed between the chrome legs of a walker, as she prepares to have her last Cosmopolitan in the nursing home...fabulously.