I
hate to talk politics but oh my God! That’s all I’m going to say. And
one other thing. Oh my God!

Back
to me, because I forgot to mention the Penn Station signing.

Probably
because it was less emotional that the BU signing and also because I was
obsessing on the whole throwing of the Jew down the well thing. But still, there’s just something about
signings– and Hudson Booksellers is now my home away from home. I love these people. They stand by me the entire time. I mean
that literally. They stand up — for
hours, right next to me, so that I’m never alone. They bring me flowers and drinks and chocolates, anything to calm
my nerves. 

I
got into Penn station early so I started signing at about 1:30. So many faces came and went, but a few stand
out in my mind. Like the woman who ran over to me and said, “I can’t believe
this. Are you really an author?
Seriously? You’re the author of this
book. I’ve never met an author in my entire life! You actually wrote that book! Are you kidding me? You’re
Stephanie Lessing?”

So,
naturally I said, “Would you like me to sign a book for you?” And then she
said, “No. I just wanted to see you in
person.”

Then
there was the sweet, elderly woman who put her hand under my chin and said,
“You know, you look like a Stephanie. No other name would suit you, and I’m so proud of you. Really. You did a wonderful thing writing this book, and I won’t forget
you.” She didn’t buy a book either, but
I feel as though, on some level, she loves me. Her husband was shaking his head
the whole time, as if to say, “here we go again.” So there’s an excellent chance that she’s proud of everyone she
meets.

Then
there was the guy who has three daughters, all of whom are writers, one of whom
is an Avon writer. He did buy a book.

Then
there was the woman who very sweetly came over to me and said, “I’d like to buy
this book, because everyone in school always made fun of my jewfro.” I didn’t know what to say, so I told her
that at least her jewfro wasn’t red.

Oh,
and then there was this really big, scary woman who was wearing men’s shoes and
a really frilly blouse. She looked like a gigantic school girl. We got to talking about Miss Understanding
and she said, “I’d like to buy your book, but I think it will depress me. I’ve
always relied on women. Women never let
me down. I don’t want to hear anything
bad about the way women treat one another.” I told her it was a funny book, but she didn’t believe me, and bought
“My Sister’s Keeper” instead.

Then
there was a woman who came over to my table and very sweetly asked if she could
look at my book. I said, “of course”
and she very delicately took a piece of chocolate from the table, unwrapped it,
stuck the paper in her pocket and put the whole chocolate in her mouth in one
bite. The Godiva chocolates on my table were part of a promotion. There was also a tote bag involved. Then she
came back a few minutes later and said, “Can I read the back of the book?” So,
of course, I said, “Absolutely!” and she picked up a few more chocolates,
popped them in her mouth, put the book down, and walked away. A few minutes later, when she was heading
our way, the store manager finally said, “I can only give you one more candy,”
and so the woman walked away. I thought
she was too shy to ask me to sign her book outright, and that she was just
using the chocolates as an excuse to come over to my table, but, as it turns
out, she was just hungry.

Then my sister’s friend Stacey happened to walk by with her mom. The mother looked at Stacey and said,
“What’s Robin doing sitting down in that bookstore?” And then Stacey said, “That’s not Robin. That’s her sister. She wrote a book.” I
waved them over and basically handed Stacey a book and said, “Go buy this. You can ask me what it’s about later.”

As
the hours went by, I began to entertain the idea that God had perhaps sent me
to Penn Station for a reason. A reason
that had nothing to do with the actual signing of books.

 I met a woman who does PR, who desperately
wants to get a book published. She
hasn’t written a book yet, but she’s going to call me when she does.

I
met a doctor who specializes in sleep disorders (who was nice enough to educate
me to the point where I think I could now open my own clinic). He bought a copy
of my book for his wife. And I promised to spread the word about his practice.

 I met a guy who is putting together a music
show of some sort(somehow I agreed to be a part of this show, even though I
don’t play an instrument, or sing, or know what the show is for).

 I met a woman who is afraid she’s going to
die because she watched Dr. Oz on Oprah and now she wants to get a sonogram of
her liver. I told her that I know Dr. OZ and that I’ll try to get her an
appointment with him. 

I
met an aspiring fashion designer, who asked me if I knew anyone who was
hiring. I told her I’d do some research
and get back to her (and I will).

 I met a man who can’t find a woman to save
his life, and so I told him to go on JDATE –even though I’m pretty sure he’s
not Jewish or datable.

 I met a woman who felt my aura, (I let her
feel it for at least ten minutes)and a mother and daughter who swore they saw
me on TV last night. They were having
an argument about it as they approached me so I settled the disagreement by
saying that there is another writer who looks exactly like me and that it might
have been her or me. I also met a girl who had just bought my book the day
before and who took my picture with her cell phone so she’d have something to
post on her website.

And
last, but not least, I met a woman who asked me if I was seeing anybody. I told her, “Yes, I’m seeing my husband,”
but I took her number, and promised to call her if I meet someone who I think
might be right for her.

Apparently
this is my calling. Finding people
dates and jobs. I might as well just go
with it for a while.