Because I wrote a book called What to Wear to See the Pope, which many people - including those who should know better - assumed wrongly was largely autobiographical, they also assume that I did actually see the Pope.
For the record, I have never seen the Pope. Not in Rome and not in Yonkers. Not in Uruguay.
But I did see a movie yesterday called The Pope's Toilet. My friend Becky and I went to MOMA, ostensibly to see paintings from Picasso's blue period, because she is obsessed with all things blue. As we bought tickets I noticed that in 20 minutes there was a showing of The Pope's Toilet. A title conceived to pique one's interest? The gentlemen at the desk told me they had received many irate calls about the film. Of course we had to abandon Picasso and his blues, and descend into the theater. It was a lovely film, about a bicycling smuggler who hopes to make money with a pay toilet when the Pope's visit brings the devout hordes into Melo, Uruguay. The Pope and the Popemobile make their scheduled appearance, but the devout hordes never materialize. Don't count on a happy ending. (I did, and was very sad.)