It was a Saturday night, I think, some years ago, on one of those hated expeditions to the Upper East Side (my wife says it actually happened on the Upper West), where women carry lapdogs and wear high heels with their work out gear, and fashion still lives in an eternal Prep-land that brings back flashbacks of 1980s Connecticut. Anyway, there we were, long after midnight, making our way home to Brooklyn from a friend's party, the soles of our shoes sticky from spilt Red Bull, hoping against hope to make the connection at Broadway Lafayette without too much trauma, when we witnessed one of New York's prouder moments. Going down the stairs from soupy September air into a denser olfactory fug, I heard a voice say, "I'm taking a shit!" We turned the corner, and there she was: a woman in a skirt - probably under 30 - her face blurred with drunkenness and mirth, crouching on the stairs. The moment we saw her, a voice off-stage shouted:"where the hell are you?" And she replied, shouting louder, with gusto, as she stretched out the syllables: "I'm - TAKE-ing a SHITTTT!!!"