There’s a reason that the Hamptons Jitney is the one bus that New York’s elite will deign to place their fancy tushes on. The air-conditioned anti-Greyhound actually showed up on time Friday afternoon, and the nice lady who came to take our credit cards gave me two cartons of lemonade and a bag of Bachmann’s Party Mix.
Because it’s not a party without Bachmann’s Party Mix.
I made sure to grab a window seat because I was determined to keep an eye on the road. It was time for me to figure out where exactly the Hamptons were. The last time I ventured a guess, it was deemed so clueless that my publicist, R. Couri Hay, had to step in, spinning my ignorance as some kind of adorable party trick. Read More