So apparently I have this special talent where – when in my presence – men are compelled to say promising-sounding things like “You should come to my father’s in the country this summer” (see The Fig) or “I’d like to see you again” and “I’ll organize that” (see “The Fig, attempt to get over” OR “seemingly nice American guy I just went out with”).
And then the second men are out of my clearly supercalifragi-magnetic presence they come to their senses and totally fucking disappear.
And now I get to go on assignment to Paris, where people kiss on the street corners to pass time. Oh, goody.
And when I return, I get to go to Milan. Which sounds all very well and possibly even glamorous except that it's a scary fashion story (interviewing a certain Italian designer whose name rhymes with Liberace) over a weekend where I have a five-car pileup of parties I actually want to attend (hint: there will not be a single celebrity at them). So I'll never actually meet anyone.
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I'm not going to lie - the trips sound incredibly glamorous, however, missing 5 back to back parties, especially when you're a bit down in the dumps.... that sucks. Perhaps a handsome stranger on the plane? (I'm starting to sound like my grandma -the extremly optimistic matchmaker!)
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