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Still, this whole dating/present-giving thing is so difficult! Everybody says something different. Like, last night I called my mom and asked her what I should give Michael, and she said silk boxer shorts.
But I can’t give Michael UNDERWEAR!!!!!!!
I wish my mom would hurry up and have this baby already so she would stop acting so weird. She is pretty much useless to me in her current state of hormonal imbalance.
Out of desperation, I asked my dad what I should get Michael, and he said a pen, so Michael could write to me while I am in Genovia, instead of my calling him all the time and breaking the bank of Genovia.
Whatever, Dad. Like anyone writes with a pen anymore.
And hello, I am only going to be in Genovia for Christmas and summers, as per our agreement drawn up last September.
A pen. I am so sure. Am I the only person in my family with a modicum of romance in my bones?
Oops, gotta stop writing, Father Christoff is looking this way. But it is his own fault. I wouldn’t write in my journal during mass if his sermons were even semiinspiring. Or at least in English.
12 p.m.–2 p.m.
Lunch with Director of Royal Genovian Opera, leading mezzo-soprano
I thoughtI was a picky eater, but it turns out mezzo-sopranos are way pickier than even princesses.
My zit is growing out of all proportion despite application of toothpaste last night before I went to bed.
3 p.m.–5 p.m.
Meeting with Genovian Homeowners Association
You would think that the Homeowners Association, at least, would be on my side on the parking meter issue. After all, it’s their houses these tourists keep parking in front of. You’d think they’d want to bring in a little more income for sidewalk repairs. But NOOOOOOOOOOO.
I swear I don’t know how my dad does this every day. I really don’t.
7 p.m.–10 p.m.
Formal Dinner with ambassador to Chile and his wife
Huge controversy due to René “borrowing” Chilean ambassador’s convertible Porsche—and his wife—for a jaunt into Monte Carlo after dessert. Couple eventually found playing tennis on royal court.
Sadly, it was strip tennis.
Eight days until I see him again. Oh, joy! Oh, rapture!
Monday, January 12, 1 a.m.,
Royal Genovian bedchamber
I just got off the phone with Michael. I had to call him. It wasn’t like I had a choice. I had to find out what he wanted for his birthday. I know that is cheating—asking someone what they want—but I seriously can’t think what to get him. Of course if I were the Kate Bosworth type I would so totally have gotten him the perfect gift already, like maybe a charming friendship bracelet that I wove myself out of seaweed or whatever.
But I am not Kate Bosworth. I do not even know how to weave. OH, MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO WEAVE!!!!!!!!!!
I have to get him something really good, since I forgot. About his birthday, and all. And then of course there’s the whole thing about how he is saddled with a talentless freak princess for a girlfriend, instead of a hot Kate Bosworth type who can surf and weave and is self-actualized and never gets zits and everything. I have to get him something that is so fabulous that he forgets that I am nothing but a non-surfing, fingernail-biting freshman who happened to have been born royal.
Of course Michael says he doesn’t want anything, that I am the only thing he needs (if only I could believe this!!!!!!!!!!) and that he will see me in eight days, and that is the best present anyone could get him.
This seems to indicate that he might actually be in love with me, as opposed to only loving me as a friend. I will of course have to check with Tina to see what she thinks, but I would have to say that in this case, Signs Point to Yes!
But of course he is only saying that. That he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, I mean. I have to get him something . Something really good. Only what?
Anyway, I really did have a reason to call him. I didn’t do it just because I wanted to hear the sound of his voice, or anything. I mean, I am not that far gone.
