I left my 9-year-old at Bloomingdale's a couple of weeks ago. Last seen, he was in first-floor handbags as I sashayed out the door.
Bye-bye! Have fun!
And he did. He came home on the subway and bus himself.
Was I worried? Yes, a tinge. But it didn't strike me as that daring, either. New York is as safe now as it was in 1963. It's not as if we're living in downtown Baghdad.
Anyway, for weeks my boy had been begging for me to please leave him somewhere, anywhere, and ...
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