Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Lets Hear it for the Boy

God bless Bambi! He called! I am ecstatic, jumping for joy, and beyond giddy. He was polite, casual, and kept everything fairly brief. Sometimes, I really want to think he is being a bit of an insensitive jerk - but then I remind myself that he is from another country, and another culture...and perhaps it would be small minded of me to hope he would act as the Harlequin romance hero I have in my head and just calm down. He was busy. English is not his first language and he did have a life in full motion before we started our romance. I guess waiting over ten days in between phone calls isn't the end of the world and he is getting on an airplane and coming to see me! Keep it in perspective, right? My friends say "wrong", but I am committed to seeing this one though.

Bambi gave me 48-hours notice of his arrival and didn't ask to stay at my apartment. I imagine he is probably being respectful...the way a guy who really likes a girl would be. So, he will be staying at the SoHo Grand, he will be here for four days, and can't wait to see America for the first time. I double checked his schedule to see if he would be busy with his cousin or if he had any particular day either totally free or totally unavailable...and he assured me he was open and he wanted to see me every day. He laughed that I was silly enough to even ask that question and I felt 1,000 times better. In fact, that statement gave me the hope I needed about this trip to guarantee complete lunacy for the next couple of days.

I spent almost every waking moment since I got off the phone with Count Bambi to his arrival day in "crazy mode." I mean - think about it. I have four days to host a guy who lives between a palatial, Parisian flat, a villa in the South of France, and two castles, who has the pick of any woman in Paris, who is terrified of planes (and I suspect, somewhat terrified of Americans as well), and who is getting over a life long fear of travel to see if I might be someone he could settle down with. He is going to see my life, my apartment, my morning/noon/night selves, the places I find cool, and the people I hang out with. He is coming to my turf and I can imagine he is somewhat skeptical of what he will see. My goal is to completely enchant, dazzle, and impress him. I refuse to let this be a disappointment. That is not an option.

I hired my cleaning lady and her friend to spend two full days in my already spotless apartment doing detail work. I wanted every drawer organized, every book arranged neatly on the shelf, every sweater folded perfectly with a square of cardboard so my closet looked like it could be a section of a department store. I had about 40 boxes of food and wine from Fresh Direct delivered, so my kitchen looked like a high-end grocery store. A wine guy stocked my cabinets with the best of the best French wines. I bought a case of Bambi's favorite champagne and stocked up on champagne flutes so Bambi would feel right at home at my place. I spent four hours and several hundred dollars in the Chelsea flower district so that every table and surface of my apartment was filled with gorgeous, exotic, spectacular blooms. My God - where was "Metropolitan Home" when you needed them for a quick photo shoot? Even my toilet paper was folded at the end into a small "V" just like at a swank hotel.

Other than a five alarm "cleaning/decorating/stocking up" fire happening at my apartment, I pretty much did the same thing to my entire body - head to toe. The hair was highlighted, trimmed, and blown out. Eyebrows perfectly shaped. A manicure, a pedicure, and a glorious tan. I certainly did not look like a girl who had spent the last two weeks moping. I looked like the pampered wife of a tycoon just home from their yacht in St. Tropez. Finally! I even had my eyelashes dyed black, so that I would look pretty in the mornings when I woke up with no make up on. The magic is all in the details - I say!

Of course, little Edith Piaf was also sent to the groomers and arrived home with brushed teeth, trimmed nails, a shiny coat smelling of mango and papaya, and a tiny, dusty rose colored bow on the top of her head. She would really be the talk of the dog run if we went, but who has the time? It is a full time job trying to knock the socks off a handsome aristocrat - trust me.

In any case, he arrives tomorrow morning at 11:30. I can't imagine anything I may have forgotten to do. Brazilian bikini wax - check. Reading Time Out cover to cover for this week's touristy happenings - check. Immaculate apartment - check. Glammed up self - check. Sound mental health.....um, let me get back to you on that one.

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