Fancy Helps Herself

Do you know the book, “The Secret?” I haven’t read it or seen the movie, simply because I’m not into that kind of granola stuff. Self-help doesn’t do it for me. Paid help does. Anyway, as I understand, the point of the book is that “positive thinking” can change your life. If you think it, it will come.

This kind of talk usually strikes me as slightly ridiculous. If you go on a date and all the conversation is about you and your lonely life, well then, you’re going to stay lonely. Same way with talking about how tight your jeans are at the same time you drown your sorrows in an éclair.

But now I think I might be on the verge of becoming a believer. Yes, I know. Shocking. Mrs. Fancy might be ready to grow a long braid, stop shaving her legs and start eating processed bean curd. Okay that’s a lie. Mr. Fancy would never stand for it. Not the hairy legs and definitely not the bean curd. Unless by “bean curd” I meant “ribeye.” Back to the point. What could have happened to me? And no, it wasn’t the cheap booze. Although, yes, Kate, I do occasionally go back to my roots. Not as far as wine coolers, but down a notch or two from the usual.

Well, if you recall, I’ve been interviewing new Nannies. Nanny #1 has left us for a closer tube stop. Seriously. And I said that I was going to get out there, no matter how much I hate it, and find me “Mary Fucking Poppins.”

Guess what?

She can’t start for a few more weeks but it coming around for little play sessions to get to know the girls until then. I decided to give her a realistic show of what goes on at the Fancy House, so I greeted her this morning with truly frightening hair and furry teeth. (How are you supposed to groom yourself with two toddlers ripping apart the room? I’m at a loss here.) I wanted to make sure she really felt needed.

And now I’m sitting at the computer, working away, letting the three of them get to know each other from across the room. It might actually be true. I might have gotten what I wished for. I’m half expecting Dick Van Dyke to pop out of the fireplace and my bed to go dancing out the door into the beautiful briny sea. Please, please let it be true.

Now I’m going to close my eyes and wish away my bunion. My very UnFancy bunion. My feet are perfect. They are perfect…