From the Mouths of Babes

So, it is Thanksgiving weekend and my only invitation for the weekend was to go to my ex-boyfriend's estate in the Hamptons. He is a 40-something year old tycoon with two ex-wives, three children, and one very hot girlfriend that he has been dating for about a year. I don't even seem to rate on the "hot-o-meter" to these people, so no one - including the current girlfriend (who is with her own parents for the holiday) seems to care that I am spending four days in the country with the Tycoon, children, and full staff of maids, nannies, and a chef. Clearly, I am not viewed as a threat - just more of a table filler and entertainment for the kids. However, I don't really mind how I am viewed....because spending four luxurious days lounging at an impeccably decorated $25 million dollar estate certainly beats staying at home, alone - and I just happen to find my ex-boyfriend hysterical. He was a nightmare when I was dating him, but he has been a terrific ex. A sort of Jimmy Carter of ex-boyfriends.

On Friday night, all of the boys in the house are in the library watching a scary movie and so six-year old Lucie and I are in the den watching "Hannah Montana." I am quietly realizing that both of the New York Rangers that had taken my number had actually not called me. Scottie from Alaska has thrown out the lame Sunday night football offer and never called back with a follow up offer and baby faced Ryan had never even called at all. Out of sheer curiosity, I convince Lucie to let me change the channel to the Rangers vs. the Florida Panthers game to see if I can read into anything on their faces as they skate by. Lucie - by far, the smartest and savviest six-year old I have ever met in my life realized that I had either lost my mind or that I needed to explain how ice hockey could possibly compare to watching Miley Cyrus. I admitted - due to lack of having any good girlfriends to talk to at that very moment that I think I have a little crush on numbers "44" and "19"....and that she needed to look closely at the television and tell me which was the better one. She squinted her eyes at the T.V. and complained that they were going a bit too fast and finally decided that I should not go for either one. "Why?" I asked. She looked totally irritated and said that I should be going for "Number 1." However, there was no "1" on the Rangers. She then looked at me as if I was an idiot and told me to find another team then. God, she is good. Children from Manhattan are really scary. But I get it. I really need to find a number one. Who knew that I was watching hockey with a four-foot tall philosopher?

Coincidentally an hour after the game, Ryan sent me a text asking how my Thanksgiving was. I looked over at Lucie and told her that number 44 has just texted me and she told me to ignore him - because "it will make him wonder." Seriously, I wasn't kidding when I said children from Manhattan are freakishly good - but you know what? I'm taking the kid's advice. Number 44 can just sit and wait.