It was a balmy 98 degrees the day of the move-out and we were beyond sweaty and gross at 5:00 when we walked into the lobby of the Embassy Suites where we had chosen to stay the night before moving in the next day. Five o’clock is when they have happy hour which meant that we were walking into a lobby full of well-groomed, decidedly NON-smelly people who seemed a little more than horrified at the sight of our tired, motley crew.
On the bright side, the hotel staff checked us in and ushered us
out of the lobby into our room lickety-split.
The boys were all about jumping in the pool and we managed to hold them off until after dinner and I was too tired to care about the one hour rule and just threw them in the water as quickly as possible because I needed them to WEAR OUT so that we’d all get a good night’s sleep.
The next day we took the whole gang to the closing attorney’s office (we’ve found that having them with us speeds everything up) and signed the paperwork for the new house.
I’d been looking forward to the closing because I’d heard that the owner was going to be there. We knew very little about her – just that she had been married to an older, disabled man and that after the death of her husband she moved to Atlanta – but after seeing her decorating style in the house, I was very curious to meet her in person and get a sense of who she was.
She did not disappoint.
I knew we were in trouble when I saw my boys’ chins drop when she walked in the door. Sporting bleach blonde tresses, six-inch gold wedge heels, a skin-tight wrap with a neckline down to THERE, and enough jewelry to make Elizabeth Taylor consider coming back from the grave, this woman had mob wife written all over her.
And no, that didn’t make me feel twelve since I was wearing my capris and a pink “Have a nice daisy” t-shirt. She appeared to be in her late 50s but with the Botox and the Prada sunglasses that covered her eyes, it was hard to tell.
I wasn’t so much concerned with her age because I was doing everything in my power to keep from lunging over the table to grab her Hermes purse.
She was fashionably late (over half an hour) and didn’t seem to think anything of it. She breezed into the room and sat down and whipped out her Blackberry and acted like there was no one else in the room. She said hardly a word during the closing – she spent most of the time texting with her three-inch brightly orange-painted fingernails and only occasionally looking up to nod and ask questions about when she’d get her money.
She seemed very concerned about having the money THAT DAY.
Which amused me since she was sporting a $4,000 handbag.
When everything was done, she shook hands with us and in a thick Italian accent told us how much she had enjoyed picking out all the chandeliers and light fixtures and decorating the house and that she knew we were just going to LOVE it all. And with that, she grandly swept out of the room.
And Craig immediately turned to me and said, “Oh, she is SO going on the blog.”
To be continued….
Have a nice day.