When we last checked in with our heroine, she was suffering through what is believed to have been her first attempt at food shopping in the last several decades, though maybe ever. It was a trying experience, one which left her very cranky, and sans Jarlsberg. Luckily, a weekend in Palm Beach was planned (it's her primary residence, as you know), though for some reason she wasn't staying at the manse, which was likely being redecorated or something. But people, please. Do not assume it was a restful vacation that left the old girl rejuvenated and with the newfound strength to put herself out there and give Benjamin Lipshitz, who she should've married in the first place, a call. Because it was anything but. Sure, there was shopping for baubles, but not those deserving of a lady named Ruth Madoff.
What she's doing by day, I know. Shopping. In and around the Via Mizner alleys, where they sell knockoff cheapo costume bangles. We are not talking Cartier here. We are talking plastic. Hunting with girlfriends who'd call out, "Ruthie, look at this." Ruthie then came and looked at this.