At one point during dinner last night at La Bonne Soupe (where I, somewhat ironically, did not have the soup), I was convinced that Sarah Silverman was sitting just a couple of tables over.

Then the woman got up to leave, and I could see clearly that it wasn’t her. I mean, it was certainly her, in that she was whoever she was. But she wasn’t Sarah Silverman.

I dejectedly turned my attention back to my table’s post-dessert chit-chat. I’m pretty sure my dining companions hadn’t noticed my preoccupation, nor my subsequent disappointment.