We met up last night on the Brooklyn Bridge - Bethenny in layers of black technical fabric, Ramona of course in velour - for a lovely morning walk and some supportive chit chat between friends. Bethenny started recklessly unloading about the wretched phone call with Jill, without realizing that six words in her confidante had sprouted fangs. Ramona jerked her head twice in response before letting the epithets fly. What? She was just being honest! 'I think you are a press monger' I just think you're very self-serving.' (But my 75,000 tweetle lee deeters now know of your blasted HSN line!, cried Bethenny.) 'At least I have friends. Who are your friends?' You have nobody in your life' Right now you have Jason but you'll probably mess that up too.' Bethenny's face started doing that full-gale quiver thing that we've all become sadly familiar with, the pre-cry quake that melts anyone with a soul, but not our Ramona! 'Next time I won't tell you how I feel,' she said by way of apology. In Brooklyn, both ladies looked like they wanted to jump into Simon's arms so he could shush their frazzled nerves and pat their hair while singing them badly botched French nursery rhymes.
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