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: 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.
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?
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.