Well, I can now say that I’ve tucked into a U-shaped booth and had a long one-on-one chat with David Yurman. And yes, he was great. Personable, chatty, smart, down-to-earth, funny. Read on to get his take on inspiration, marriage, good citizenship, communication and, of course, mahvelous jewelry, dahling.

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The old Bucks County church where I’m getting married next year was perfect: tiny, quaint, simple. The lights, though, left much to be desired: big, garish, brass fixtures that left the place dim and, frankly, a bit scary. This past weekend, however, my hubby-to-be and I walked into the church and saw that (hallelujah!) they had been replaced with gorgeous, baroque-style fixtures that brighten, lighten and make the space look utterly fab (well, okay, as fab as a solemn, holy space can look).

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I admit it: I am one of those people that slow down whenever they see a piece of discarded furniture sitting on the side of the road. Sometimes it’s in vain: I slam on the brakes and crane my neck to see a holey, stained couch with one cushion missing, or a battered bookshelf that leans precariously to one side. But other times I find a treasure, like the white dresser that is now sitting in my garage, waiting for a fresh coat of paint and (I’m so excited about this) some new knobs. Finally, a reason to rummage through the brimming boxes of drawer pulls at Anthropologie.

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Despite the fact that I can’t cook, I have this dream that one day I will host a fabulously dainty tea party at which I will offer friends teeny tea sandwiches, petite canapés, other oh-so-ladylike hors d’oeuvres, and perfectly chilled champagne cocktails. Rather than investing in a cookbook (probably the right approach), I have taken to collecting various pieces of vintage china, so that while the food may be less than tasty, the table can at least be stunning, set with my deliciously mismatched finds.

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You know that feeling you get when you read Vogue, and everything in it is so lovely you can hardly stand how beautiful it is — and how much you want it — and it’s this mix of joy and awe and torture? Such is the draw I have toward the gorgeous, minimalist window display at Adresse in Center City.

The impeccably clad mannequin standing alone in the window — often complete with a pair of exquisite shoes and the perfect bag — kidnaps my gaze in a way that is usually impossible as I charge through the streets, bobbing and weaving through the other pedestrians like some sort of crazed, blond Mohammad Ali: Narciso and Lanvin and Wang, oh my! It is so well done and striking that the boyfriend instinctively knows to tighten his grip on my hand and pick up the pace when we walk to our frequent dinners at La Viola just around the corner, lest we never get there. Why, just the other day, I turned my head to gaze longingly at a sand-colored Peter Som ensemble just long enough to run smack into a baby-carrying stroller. If you had seen it, you’d have done the same.

Adresse, 1706 Locust St., 215-985-3161; adressephiladelphia.com

Photo by Erin Fitzgerald