THE NANNY DIARIES
Short of writing my number on a piece of paper and shoving it under his door, I leave 721 Park on Friday night knowing there is no way I am going to see H. H. before he leaves for Africa. Ugh.
That night I make Sarah, who's home for Christmas vacation, accompany me to a holiday party being given downtown by some guys in my class.
The whole apartment is festively decorated in glowing jalapeño-pepper lights and someone has glued a cutout of a large penis onto the picture of Santa in the living room.
It takes less than five minutes to decide that we don't want a Bud Light from the bathtub, a fistful of corn chips from a filmy bowl, or to take any of the frat boys up on their gracious offers of quick oral sex.
We head Josh off on the stairs.
"No fun?" he asks.
"Well," Sarah says, "I love to play strip quarters as much as the next girl, but---"
"Sarah!" Josh cries, giving her a hug. "Lead on!"
Several hours later find me doing a martini-sodden rendition of the wassailing story for Sarah in a corner booth at the Next Thing while Josh hits on some fashionista at the bar.
"And then . . . he gave him a cookie! That must mean something, right?"
We do an interpretive dance of every subtle nuance of the entire five-minute exchange until we have completely wrung the encounter of any meaning it might possibly have had.
"So then he said 'Great' and then I said 'Great.' "
°°°°
Saturday morning I wake with my shoes still on, a killer hangover and only one day to buy presents for my entire family, the Xes, and the many little people I've taken care of over the years.
The Gleason girls have already sent over two glitter pens and a rock with my name painted on it --- I've got to get my act together.
I wolf down tomato sauce on toast, drink a liter of water, grab a double shot of espresso on the corner, and ba-da-bing, I am alive with Holiday Spirit.
An hour later I emerge from Barnes and Noble Junior a good $150 lighter, promoting me to do a little math as I walk down Park.
Forget Paris, I'm going to need that stupid bonus just to pay off Christmas.
I walk down Madison to Bergdorf's to get a Rigaud candle for Mrs. X. It may be tiny, but at least she'll know it wasn't cheap.
As I stand on line for the all-important silver gift wrap I try to figure out what to get the four-year-old who has everything.
What would make him really happy, short of his father actually making an appearance to do the high-ups? Well . . . a night-light, because he's scared of the dark.
And maybe a bus-pass holder that could keep that card protected before it completely disintegrates.
As I'm on Fifty-eighth and Fifth, the logical thing would be to cross the street to FAO Schwartz's enormous Sesame Street section to find him a Grover night-light, but I can't, can't, can't.
YOU ARE READING
The nanny Diaries
HumorNan has a tricky relationship with her employer, Mrs. A non- existent relationship with Mr X. But she loves their little boy to pieces. In between looking after four-year-old Grayer and running a thousand errands for Mrs X, his rich, upr...
