It was a long, long trip on a long, long train back from Pennsylvania today. Got home – famished and exhausted – dropped the bags, walked deliriously to a favorite restaurant, and dined. A glass of wine in my tired brain later, I heard from an accompanying table:

No, no, get this – when I was nine, I went to the Met and knocked over a statue. It was from the Ming dynasty. I ran outside and cried. But nobody knew it was me that knocked it over.

So that’s why my Ming dynasty statue has a crack in it. And now I know who did it.