Voila!

Voila! In English, we use this word sparingly. It usually precedes a big reveal. You asked for a home makeover- voila! Your newly-decorated abode awaits. In Paris, this word is used more often and with less emphasis. It was a bit disconcerting when I was at a boutique and asked if they had my size in something.

The snooty clerk surprised me as she showed me where by saying, "Voila." Clearly, for Parisians, voila is the equivalent of "here" as in "here it is."

That's all I got. I'm fighting flu-like symptoms and trying to defy my carb-cravings. This makes for a dull love pariah. I should be a stress grenade given my upcoming dinner party for 16 people. Calm down. If you weren't invited it's either because, A. I don't know you and object to you reading my blog anyway, or B. you are not single.

That's right, it's a party for eligible singletons only so we can "network, circulate, socialize" and any other euphemisms for "desperately seeking partner to spare us from future social engagements restricted to sad singles." It will be fun, no doubt, because it's at mine... but I've only invited compatible partners for my friends, working diligently to balance the guest list so there are attractive options for both genders. However, in my selfless endeavor, I neglected to consider if there will be anyone for me. I'm hoping that if a union does come from my little dinner experiment, the newly-coupled singletons will feel charitable and set me up with someone perhaps outside of my existing social circle.

In the meantime, I'm fending off suitors thrust into my email inbox from

my mother and grandmother.

"He's not handsome, handsome, but he's good-looking."

I don't even want to know what that means. No doubt a frog who morphs into a troll instead of a prince with my luck. Voila! Your gnome awaits...