And took the bus, by myself, to the museum. In my case, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I hopstopped directions, braved the cold, and found my way to the crosstown bus. I climbed on, with the other old ladies venturing, no doubt, to the Met for a little cultuah in their day, and got off at the appropriate place, happy that someone else pulled the string requesting a stop.
Because this adventure was more about taking the bus, I wandered only through my favorite exhibits–the Arms and Armor Hall and the American Wing. The furniture was OMG. I sighed a lot. And then I wondered how we got from the beautiful Virginia Colonial style to Rococo. Woof.