There are a few players in this endearing comedy and some need new blog names using my ongoing French theme:
troublesome sweet little girl, Charlotte
– Two of Charlotte’s friends:
— One hosted a sleepover…Hyacinthe
— One was the second guest…Hermine
– The parents and owners of the house…Gustave and Germaine
– The mom of the other friend/guest…Lillian
A couple of weeks ago, I was picking up Charlotte from a sleepover. It was a slow start to that Sunday morning and it was a T-shirt and jeans pick-up rather than a shaved, showered, and caffeinated pick-up.
Her friend’s parents had recently completed an extension to their house. Gustave and Germaine and I were looking around the extension and talking about the new kitchen while my daughter was packing up her stuff. Naturally Charlotte was already supposed to be packed up before I arrived at the annointed pick-up time. But deadlines don’t matter to my teenagers, unless it’s me taking them somewhere. Then the whining resembles that of a truck going down a hill in low gear. But I digress.
Charlotte’s friend had also had another friend over for the sleepover.
The mom of the other girl arrived while I was admiring the new kitchen. Lillian joined in the conversation about the value of two ovens (which Germaine and Gustave now have) versus two microwaves (which I have).
Lillian left her her key fob on the kitchen counter and I saw that she drove the same make of car I used to drive (before I had to swap my nice car for the mini-van so I could be a ‘soccer dad’ a.k.a. part-time limo driver to teens). Lillian and I teamed up against Gustave in a gentle pros and cons discussion of this make of car versus the Infiniti that Gustave drove. Gustave was defending his decision to buy an Infiniti even though the key factor in his purchase was that his company had a deal with Infiniti that granted the employees a big discount.
After I returned home, I decided not to delay any longer and started putting up the Xmas lights. I was up the ladder stringing the lights when Charlotte came outside, phone in hand. “What do you think of Hermine’s mom?” she asked. Analyzing all of the possible safe answers, I responded with: “Why?”
As open as ever, Charlotte said that she and Hermine had noticed us talking. “I see,” I said. “Give me your phone.”
Lillian is single. Divorced. I don’t know for how long. But I found this out because, in a total of about 10 text messages, the two girls had gone from noticing that Lillian and I had been talking, to Lillian and I having apparently shared a ‘moment’, to Lillian and I going out on dates, all the way to Lillian and I getting married and the two of them becoming step-sisters. What?!
When I put Charlotte off by pointing out that I didn’t know anything about Lillian and she was getting a ‘little’ ahead of herself, she demurred and went inside.
A few minutes later, my phone beeped. It was a text message from Charlotte.
Charlotte had talked to her friend, Hermine. Hermine had talked to her mom. The text message told me that Hermine’s mom had said it was OK for me to ask her out. It included Lillian’s phone number.
“Charlotte! Come here!” I said at a gentle volume that had other girls named Charlotte in a two-block radius popping their head outside to see what I wanted.
“Yes Daddy?” said Charlotte. Sweetly. And happy. And expectant.
I saw her expression and gave her the kind of exasperated “Fine” she gives me at least a few times each day.
A half-hour later, I was still stringing up the lights and got another text message. “Well?” Charlotte wanted to know. OMG!
Charlotte has the kind of persistence that will take her a long way in this world if she puts her mind to something. What will happen with this particular lady is unknown at this time. I have not been out with her although we did chat once on the phone, laughing (slightly manically) about our kids and what we planned to do them later that day. Much of the discussion involved ancient forms of torture that may not be legal anymore.