I often say, during speeches that I am only about three weeks away from the Mullings Director of Standards & Practices pinning our home address to my lapel before I leave the house in the morning.

This is an example of why:

On Friday morning I was scheduled to do TV. Nothing special, four-and-a-half minutes of chatter about something - oh, it was the Democratic candidates' debate the previous night in Arizona.

I was supposed to be on shortly after 10:00 so I planned to get to the studio at about 9:40-or-so.

I drove myself in the Mullmobile because the Senate was not in session and there is usually plenty of parking when the Senate employees are not utilizing the 17-billion parking spaces they have made "permit parking only."

As luck would have it, I got to the building which houses Fox, MSNBC, CNBC, Cox, and C-SPAN, at just about 9:30. Meter parking is permitted after 9:30 am and before 4:00 pm to clear the streets for rush hour.

I plunked an appropriate number of quarters into the meter and, feeling very smug about myself, I strolled into the building.

I signed in at the front desk and pressed the elevator button for the 8th floor on which the NBC-affiliated studios are located.

I was buzzed in by the young woman at the front desk; went through the inner door, tossed my very manly shoulder bag into a chair in the Green Room, and went down the hall toward makeup.

Who should be sitting in the makeup chair but Tim Russert.

We chat, chat, chat about this 'n' that until he is done; then I take his place and we chat some more.

When I was finished Patty, the makeup woman, dialed the control room to tell them I was ready. She listened for a moment, turned to me and asked, "What time are you supposed to be on?"

"Right after the 10 o'clock break," I said.

She repeated this into the phone, turned back to me and asked, "On Em-Ess?"

My eyes widened. "Oop!" I said. "Fox."

I ran down the hallway to grab my very manly shoulder bag so I could take the elevator down the three flights to the Fox studios.

As I was leaving, Russert yelled after me, "Hey! We want our makeup back!"

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