French Husband came home with a twinkle in his eye, handing me a note that had the name and phone number of someone I didn't know.
"A certain Monsieur wants you to decorate his home on the French Rivera, and possibly other properties he owns! He wants you to call him today." Saying this his face beamed brighter than the moon on the Mediterranean! He added, "At a meeting today I told him about you, and he was intrigued and told me to have you call him."
French Husband is my biggest fan. He believes I could redecorate Versailles. He believes my fingers are golden. He thinks way too much of how I can fold fitted bedsheets and put the linens away.
I looked over at him and then back at note. I licked my lips wondering what this was about.
"Call him now!" French Husband said as he nearly shoves the phone down my throat with excitement.
Words stumble through my head in French, my heart beats faster, my fingers wiggled, I awkwardly smiled at the plunge I was about to take.
Dialing the number a woman's voice greeted me. Introducing myself my American accent gave more than I wanted it too. Silence lingered… I swallowed doubt, a thought raced through my head, "HANG UP!!" I stayed on the line chasing nonsense out of my desire. Finally after ages of silence that occurred in a split second, that only mathematicians can explain, the woman barked at me,"WHAT!!! What, what??? Who are you??? What has my Husband done??? WHAT??? NO! Oh no no no no!! Certainly not!"
I wanted to say I am not his mistress. Somehow that is what I think she thought.
Folding fitted sheets and putting the linens away is a simple art. One man's admiration is enough. I wonder what I said? I wonder if even mentioned it to his wife? I wonder what she found in her laundry?
Side Note:
To this day I do not know the real story. But this much is true. The guy was probably being nice, and over admiring Husband took the guy's words for real. Either way it made a good story.
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