By the time we post this we’ll be back in Birkenstock country after posing as New Yorkers for the weekend. Before we went to Manhattan and experienced the freedom of shoe shopping at 3am, we were content with our simple little lives; now we are ruined, like the guy in that Dan Bern song who slept with Madonna too soon. Tomorrow we must delve back into work and an odorous pile of dirty laundry, but for now we’ll gaze wistfully at our Manhattan skyline snow globe we bought on Canal Street (along with a Statue of Liberty teddy bear and various other tacky tsotchkes.)

We’re not ashamed to reveal our naïve, nerdy tourist selves by gushing over the Big Apple; New York City is every bit as sophisticated and dizzyingly stimulating as they say. But we also found it to be unexpectedly easy to navigate, full of bargains and brimming with the kindness of strangers. We expected a roachy shoebox when we scored a cheap room in The Murray Hill East Suites and felt like we won a prize when we opened the door. The only reason it rates only two stars is because it doesn’t have a bar or restaurant, but who wants to eat at the hotel when street shwarma awaits? Plus we had a Holly Golightly moment waiting for the old-fashioned elevator while the doorman whistled “Would You Like To Swing On A Star.”

We kept having such moments all over Manhattan. People were just so polite and helpful; holding doors, giving directions, stoking us with local nuggets like a cheap bus ride to the airport instead of a cab. We don’t know if we were just exuding some Pollyanna vibe or what, but it was like Someone tell us to f*ck off already! We never even came close to being mugged in spite of traipsing around alone.

The only thing about the whole trip we can kvetch about are blisters. (But they’re the super gross drippy kind, so that’s something.)

As far as accomplishing our list of “things to do,” we fared quite well except for one: Apparently Barney’s has a 30-day return policy that even our saddest puppy eyes could not budge. Suddenly, the fugly hat we couldn’t wait to exchange is ours forever. But now that it has a story and two cross-country shleps behind it, somehow it’s not quite so ugly anymore.

J Celebrity sighting: Jerry Stiller sitting in the passenger seat of a Town Car on the Upper West Side. He looked like he was yelling.

While checking our e-mail at Starbuck’s we found an invitation to Orgasms: The Play at the Soho Playhouse, a one woman (Kimmie Fadem)/one man (Michael J. Scarpelli, Jr.) show about the amusing aspects of dating and relationships by Dan Israely. We thought it would be edgier, being New York theater and all, but it mostly stayed in the realm of “he never listens/she shops too much.” The bit of Adam naked in Eden stroking a stuffed snake drew laughs and we thought the bed scenes were clever with the bed standing upright and the actors draping the quilt across them (wow! It looks like they’re really lying down!) Orgasms is running a two-for-one deal through May 25; it’s definitely not a first date activity, but established couples might get a kick out of it.

Fulfilled a lifelong dream of owning faux couture by buying a Prada purse in front of Ground Zero from a lovely gentleman from Birkina Faso.

We have more to write about our rendezvous with Esther and our camp reunion, but jet lag and our reentry are causing double vision.