Michael’s a pretty good present giver, though, so I trust his is going to be better.

And it’s a new year, so I’m going to spend it taking Paolo’s advice: figuring out how to make these diamond shoes work for me.

The people I’ve heard from so far (that I actually know, though not necessarily intimately) include:

1.   My mom and half brother, Rocky (singing “Happy Birthday” together).

This is the first year I’ve heard them without Mr. Gianini accompanying on his drum set. That made me a little sad. But when I called them back (I only spoke to Mom, because she’d already dropped Rocky off at school), she sounded upbeat. It’s good that she’s doing so well, because I sometimes wonder if she’s just masking her grief by throwing herself into her work like the bereaved single moms I always see on made-for-TV movies, where the ghost of the deceased husband is watching over her and the kids until they cute-meet a new guy.

This time Mom mentioned she’d seen a piece on Dad’s arrest on Access Hollywood and wanted to know if I think he’s on drugs, and if so, did I think we should get together to do an intervention?

I said no to both.

This actually makes me think Mom’s getting back to her normal sassy self (and that Mr. Gianini has moved on to heaven or his next life or whatever, because if he were a ghost he would definitely never steer her in Dad’s direction).

2.   The president (of the United States. I’m pretty sure it was prerecorded, though).

3.   Ex–college suite mates, Shawna and Pamela, who now share an apartment over their shop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, that sells artisanal mayonnaise.

4.   The Windsors (despite what some people say about them, they’re all actually very sweet).

5.   Tina Hakim Baba. (She was trying so hard to sound chipper. I know Michael said I should listen to Boris’s side of the story, but would it be so wrong if instead, the next time I happen to be in the same room as Boris, I tell Lars that I thought I saw a weapon on him? A body cavity search by the Royal Genovian Guard could teach him a valuable lesson.)

6.   My father, hoping I have a very happy twenty-fifth birthday. Which is great, except that I turned twenty-six today. But since it’s my birthday, I’m choosing to be magnanimous. (He’s never gotten my age right. Once he gave me a birthday card with my name spelled wrong. But at least that meant he’d addressed it himself.)

7.   Ling Su and Perin. I totally made it a point not to mention my b-day to anyone at work, so I have no idea how they remembered. This is an example, though, of Perin’s extremely high-level organizational skills, and why I’m glad I hired her.

8.   Ex-high-school-nemesis Lana Weinberger (I mean Rockefeller. So hard to remember that she goes by her married name now).

This was surprising since I haven’t talked to Lana in ages, even though she lives just up the block from here, on Park and Seventieth (in Penthouse L, as she always makes a point to remind us. She even had it emblazoned in block letters on her monogrammed wedding and baby announcements).

Lana left a long, rambling message about how we need to spend more time together because Best Friends Are Forever! and it’s been way too long and she knows I’m super involved with this “after-school thing” I’ve started for “all the juvenile delinquents” (even though I explained to her last time I saw her that it’s a community center open to all students in the five boroughs, not just ones with criminal records), but couldn’t I “take one day off from being a politically correct do-gooder to get a mani-pedi and bikini wax, for old time’s sake?”

“Also,” she went on, “there’s something really super important I need to talk to you about, just a teeny tiny favor that only you could help me with, Mia, so can you please call back as soon as possible? Okay, bye-yeeee bitch!”

The good thing about being in one’s midtwenties is that you know nothing bad is going to happen if you don’t return people’s texts and voice mails . . . especially the texts and voice mails of people who probably only want to use you for your fortune or political connections.

9.   Shameeka Taylor. Shameeka wanted to say how sorry she is about the protesters (who are gone today, thank God. I guess Grandmère was right—either that or Cousin Ivan only paid them to protest for one day) and that everything is going well with the new boyfriend (even though he was only supposed to be a one-night stand, but he makes such amazing breakfasts that she’s decided to let him turn into a thirty-night stand) and she appreciates my wearing the red Vera suit (she does marketing for Vera Wang) to the benefit for victims of Hurricane Julio.

•   Note to self: Did she send me the suit, or did I buy it? I seriously don’t even remember. Check into this.

Am I doing so many public events these days that they’ve all begun to blur? Am I slipping into early-onset dementia? How early does early-onset dementia begin, and what are the symptoms besides forgetting where my clothing comes from? Is one of the symptoms a twitching eyelid?

Or is it the Tylenol PM? I know I’ve only just started taking it, but seriously, I can’t even remember falling asleep, let alone any of my dreams.

And finally:

10.   My ex-boyfriend J. P. Reynolds-Abernathy IV. I can’t believe he had the nerve to contact me.

Oh, wait, I forgot: he’s J.P.

Anyway, he posted the following on my Instagram (where, of course, EVERYONE can see it).