Dressing For the Loony Bin
Lisa Dierbeck contemplates the important question that sooner or later all New Yorkers must answer: what should we wear when we get checked in at the Nut Hut?
After we d made arrangements to meet with a psychiatrist there, only one pressing question remained. What to wear? For our visit to Bellevue, my husband and I opted for sweaters and jeans. Serge, however, elected to dress up instead of down. When we picked him up at the studio apartment where he was poisoning himself, he sported Prada, head to toe. The only exception was his eyeglasses. "Chanel," he noted, dryly. ("Manic. Shopping spree," he explained.) He was certainly the most elegant of impoverished mental patients. He was also plastered. After he d poured himself "one last martini" to celebrate his date with detox, we discovered that Serge no longer possessed the ability to walk.
