Princess in Pink

Boris almost looked handsome as he basked beneath the hearthglow of her affection.

Seriously. Like, even his underbite didn't look that pronounced. And his chest kind of puffed out.

Either that, or he's been working out or something.

AHHHHH! The phone! Oh please God let it be my dad to say the strike is over and he's sending the limo down to pick Grandmere up ...

Friday, May 9, 7:10 p.m.

It wasn't my dad. It was Michael, to ask if I agree with the line-up of songs Skinner Box plans on playing tomorrow. It

includes many old prom standbys, such as The Moldy Peaches' 'Who's got the Crack' and Switchblade Kittens' 'All Cheerleaders Die', in addition to edgier stuff such as 'Mary Kay' by Jill Sobule and 'Call the Doctor' by Sleater-Kinney.

This is not to mention Skinner Box's original songs, such as 'Rock Throwing Youths' and 'Princess of my Heart'.

I did feel compelled to suggest Michael substitute 'Rock Throwing Youths' with something a little less controversial, like

'When It's Over' by Sugar Ray or 'She Bangs' by Ricky Martin, but he said he would sooner show up in the middle of Times Square wearing nothing but a cowboy hat (oh, how I wish he would!). So I suggested some old school Spoon or White

Stripes instead.

Then Michael went, 'What is all that shouting in the background?'

'Oh,' I said airily. 'That's just Grandmere and my mom arguing. Grandmere keeps insisting that my mom let her smoke in the Loft, but Mom says it's not good for me, or for the baby. Grandmere just accused my mother of being a fascist. She says

when she had Hitler and Mussolini over to the palace for tea at the height of World War Two, they both let her smoke, and

if it was good for those guys, it should be good enough for my mom.'

'Uh, Mia,' Michael said. 'You do realize that your grandmother just turned sixty-five.'

'Yeah,' I said, remembering Grandmere's birthday with all too much clarity: she had insisted on me going back to Genovia

with her to celebrate it, only I had had midterms (THANK GOD) and so was unable to. Don't think I didn't hear about

THAT ad nauseam for weeks.

'Well, Mia,' Michael said. 'I know maths is not your strong point, but you do know that your grandmother could only have

been about five years old during the height of World War Two. Right? I mean, she couldn't have had Hitler and Mussolini for tea at the Genovian Palace, because she wouldn't have even been living there yet, unless she married your grandfather when

she was like, four.'

I was stunned into total and complete silence by that one. I mean, can you believe it? My own grandmother has been lying

to me MY WHOLE LIFE. All Grandmere ever tells me about is how she saved the palace from being shelled by the Nazi hordes by having Hitler over for soup or something. All this time, I've thought about how brave she was, and what a diplomat, stopping the imminent military incursion into Genovia with SOUP and her charming (well, back then, maybe) smile.

AND NOW I FIND OUT IT'S NOT EVEN TRUE????????????????????????

Oh, my God. She's good. Really good.

Although - and I never thought I would say this - it's sort of hard to be mad at her.

Because . . . well. . .

She did save the prom.

Friday, May 9, 7:30 p.m.

Tina just called. She is kevelen over getting to go to the prom. It is, she says, like a dream come true. I told her I couldn't

agree more. She asked me how I thought we'd come to be so lucky.

I told her: Because we are both kind and pure of heart.

Friday, May 9, 8:00 p.m.

Oh, my God. I never thought I would say this, but poor Lilly.

Poor, poor Lilly.

She just found out that Boris is taking Tina to the prom. She overheard Michael and I talking a little while ago. Lilly is on

the phone with me now, barely able to speak, she is trying so hard to hold back her tears.

'M-Mia,' she keeps choking. 'W-What have I d-done?'

Well, it is very clear what Lilly's done: ruined her life, that's all.

But of course I can't tell her that.

So instead I went on about how a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle and about how Lilly will learn to love again, blah blah blah. Basically all the same stuff Lilly and I said to Tina back when she got dumped by Dave Farouq El-Abar.

Except of course that Boris didn't dump Lilly: SHE dumped him.

But I can't point this out to Lilly, as it would be like kicking her when she was already down.

It is sort of hard dealing with Lilly's personal crisis when a) I am so happy, and b) my mom and Grandmere are still fighting

in the background.

I just had to excuse myself for a moment and put the phone down. Then I went out into the living room and shrieked, 'Grandmere, for the love of God, would you please call Les Hautes Manger and ask them to hire Jangbu back so you

can go return to your suite at the Plaza and leave us in PEACE?'

But Mr. Gianini, who was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be reading the paper, went, 'I think it's going to take

a little more than young Mr. Pinasa getting his job back to end this strike, Mia.'

Which I must say is extremely disappointing to hear. Because I can barely find anything in my room, due to the fact that Grandmere's stuff is strewn everywhere. It is a little demoralizing to be looking around in my underwear drawer for a pair of Queen Amidala panties only to find the BLACK SILK AND LACE THONGS Grandmere wears. My grandma has sexier underwear than me. This is fully disturbing. I will probably be in therapy for years because of it, too.