At least three. I mean, people were telling me I looked great.

Oh, we didn’t win, of course. Saturday Night Live did. But really, it was an honor just to be publicly disappointed at a primo table right near the stage in full view of most of the cameras!

Seriously, though, a great time. I’d never been to an awards show, unless you count the 1995 MTV VMAs. And I wasn’t nominated for anything there, though Steven Tyler did choose to sweat directly on me, which felt like something of an honor.

But the night was not without drama. See, I didn’t have a suit - haven’t had one in far too long, in fact. But I did have a Macy’s gift certificate. So Friday morning, on my return from “Wait Wait,” I stopped off, and with Jeanne found a terrific suit at a jaw-droppingly good price. God bless the fiscal meltdown!

So I pick up the freshly-cuffed suit yesterday, take it home and put it on a few minutes before our HBO-supplied car arrives. Jeanne already looks beautiful, and we’re goin’ in style… a Hollywood power couple, about to breeze down the red carpet…

Which is when I discover that something is wrong with my suit. It seems too small. It will not button, no matter how aggressively I pull at it, and I’d eaten kind of light all day, to boot.   I pull and I struggle and I eventually have to face facts: This is not my suit. It is, in fact, upon inspection, 4 sizes too small.

I called Macy’s in a panic, and they went into a panic. 5 seconds later, the phone rings - our driver is here.

What could we do? I’m wearing a shirt, tie, dress shoes… and shorts. The driver takes us not to the awards but to Macy’s. By the time we arrived, the staff had determined that my suit had been mistakenly given to a “Mr. Strange” (no lie).

We raced around the store searching for a replacement, because there were no more of my suits available. Jeanne found one that seemed to fit, more or less. They called a tailor in for an emergency look, she did her thing with the pant cuffs, and we waited anxiously as she sewed and the awards show preliminaries ticked by. There were moments of comedy (in retrospect), as when Jeanne went to look for my misplaced belt, unaware that she was carrying my shorts with her, meaning I spent at least some of my Big Awards Show cocktail hour prowling around near the changing area of Macy’s in a shirt, tie, underwear, and dress socks, trying to attract Jeanne’s attention out on the floor in a stage whisper while semi-hiding behind clothing racks.

Soon, though, the tailor finished her rush job, I jumped into the suit and we were off.

And we got there before cocktail hour was over. The whole thing was a great time - we ran into lots of old friends, old idols (Carl Reiner was there, receiving a special award, introduced by his son), and lot of people, who, like me, were Honored Just To Be Nominated. A great time, and my equanimity had been restored. Although, if sometime during the evening I had been introduced to a man in a smart charcoal suit and a name like, say, “Doug Strange,” I’m pretty sure I would’ve punched him in the face.

aftershow