Sunday, November 06, 2005

Key to my door, key to my heart

I adore my doorman. I always say "my doorMAN" even though they're actually two, but they take turns to play the part. My doorman is my real partner in crime. Both of them; Ian, the rugged Irish rugby player (why do all Eires have freckles and measure only 2 ft above the ground without shoes?), and JB, the huge Baha man.
Their christmas bonus is not a joke, but they do deserve every penny. If there are any two people that I owe my life to, it's my hob and my bombaclot angels guarding my fort.
They've seen me in all of life's stages, not just as the narcissistic bitch most take me for. Numerous are the times I've cried out on the couch in their back room (JB doesn't even mind tears and snot on his cape!).

I have few girlfriends, since there are suprisingly few fellow young trophy wives that can identify with me. The girlfriends I do have, all we share are ideas and experiences covering the areas: shopping, exotic resorts and socialite gossip.
So who can I turn to for advice, or just venting? Doorman. They're right nearby - 24/7, they're paid to stand in the door and be kind to the residents, although I might take advantage of that fact differently. They're never rude, always supportive with handkerchiefs ready. Even when I make racist jokes (oh come on, I'm European - we rank dark humour higher than politically correctness).

I used to have a West-indian nanny when I was little. I loved her more than my family and she sung me to sleep with lullabies in her soothing husky, 'yameicahn' accent. It was only natural for me to ask JB to sing for me.
"Seriously, ANY Bob Marley song will do", I begged with my head on his shoulder.
He refused, saying he's never sung in his life. Tears started rolling down my cheeks, leaving streaks in my perfect make-up.
"Ok, lady", he said while looking around him to make sure noone else could hear. "Just this once".
It was once again proven; men can't stand crying women and do anything to make them stop. I loved him for his effort, but noone would blame me for not asking him to sing again. This year I will throw in a couple of classes with a vocal coach along with his christmas bonus.