Hello, My name is Prince Carl Philip.

And I am a Swedish prince. I look as handsome as Orlando Bloom but I offer the added perk of having a royal title. Don't you wish you were young enough to date me? Of course you do.

*****

Last night, me and Big Time Publishing House Editor had drinks and dinner. It had been a long time since we'd had a girls' night out, and with Charlotte's passing, we decided now was as good a time as any. Despite the Siberianesque weather hitting New York City, it is also my b-day week, and I felt like going out.

We hit our usual burrito bar in the West Village.

Me: So, a Swedish prince went to the BLANK school.
BTPHE: Wait. Boarding school? Would you be okay with A leaving you if he says "yes" to boarding school?
Me: He'd come home on weekends. That's our plan.
BTPHE: My mother nearly had a nervous breakdown when I went to college.
Me: It's okay. I want A to spread his wings. He can do that here in the city, or if he goes away. Either way, it's a win-win.
BTPHE: But you guys are really close.
Me: Yes.
BTPHE: [stare]
Me: I'll be okay. And plus, I may be able to do some work travel without the worry.
BTPHE: He's so mature for his age. He's 16, right?
Me: [stare] 14.
BTPHE: OMG.
Me: Which is why he needs his wings. Hey, I'm going to switch subjects here: I've had this story marinating in my head. If I put pen to paper, would you review it?
BTPHE: Sure.

The last time BTPHE reviewed a manuscript for someone on the fly was for a classmate in her MFA Creative Writing class. The girl decided not to let BTPHE's publisher buy the rights to the book (after a lot of BTPHE's editorial work, this is a big etiquette no-no). The girl shopped it elsewhere and got a $75,000 advance.

Me: Do you know who Prince Carl Philip is?
BTPHE: Erm, no?
Me: Have another margarita.