Meg Cabot - Third Time Lucky

Lucky!

Oh, yeah, I'll tell you how lucky I am:

I'm so lucky that while I lie here in bed writing this, with no one but my twenty-five pound cat, Fat Louie, to keep me company (and Fat Louie only likes me because I feed him), the boy I've been in love with since like for ever is up at midtown right now with a girl who knows how to clone fruit flies and can tell if wounds need stitches or not.

One good thing about this tongue thing, though: if Kenny was thinking about moving on to frenching, we totally can't until I heal. And that could - according to Dr. Fung, whom my mom called as soon as Lars brought me home - take anywhere from three to ten days

Yes!

Ten Things I Hate about the Holiday Season in New York City

1. Tourists who come in from out of town in their giant sports utility vehicles and try to run you over at the crosswalks, thinking they are driving like aggressive New Yorkers. Actually, they are driving like morons. Plus there is enough pollution in this city. Why can't they just take public transport, like normal people?

2. Stupid Rockefeller Center tree. They asked me to be the person who throws the switch to light it this year as I am considered New York's own royal in the press, but when I told them how cutting down trees contributes to the destruction

of the ozone layer, they rescinded their invitation and had the mayor do it instead.

3. Stupid Christmas carols blaring from outside all the stores.

4. Stupid ice-skating with stupid boys who think they can skate backwards when they can't.

5. Stupid pressure to buy meaningful gifts for everyone you know.

6. Final exams.

7. Stupid, lousy New York weather. No snow, just cold wet rain, every single day. Whatever happened to a white

Christmas? I'll tell you: global warming. You know why? Because everybody keeps driving SUVs and cutting down trees!

8. Stupid manipulative Christmas specials on TV.

9. Stupid manipulative Christmas commercials on TV.

10. Mistletoe. This stuff should be banned. In the hands of adolescent boys it becomes a societally approved excuse to

demand kisses. This is sexual harassment, if you ask me.

Plus all the wrong boys have it.

Sunday, December 6

Just got back from dinner at Grandmere's. All of my efforts to get out of having to go - even my pointing out that I am currently suffering from a perforated tongue - were in vain.

I could be bleeding out of the eyes and Grandmere would still expect me to show up for Sunday dinner.

And this one was even worse than usual. That's because Grandmere wanted to go over my itinerary for my trip to Genovia which, by the way, looks like this:

December 20

3 p.m.

Commencement of Royal Duties

3:30 p.m. - 5 p.m.

Meet and greet palace staff

5 p.m. - 7 p.m.

Tour of palace

7 p.m. - 8 p.m.

Change for dinner

8 p.m. -11 p.m.

Dinner with Genovian dignitaries

December 21

8 a.m. - 9:30 a.m.

Breakfast with Genovian public officials

10a.m.- ll:30a.m.

Tour of Genovian state schools

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.

Meet with Genovian schoolchildren

1:30 p.m.-3p.m.

Lunch with members of Genovian Teachers' Association

3:30 p.m. - 4:30 p.m.

Tour of Port of Genovia and Genovian naval cruiser (The Prince Philippe)

5 p.m. - 6 p.m.

Tour of Genovian General Hospital

6 p.m. - 7 p.m.

Visit with hospital patients

7 p.m. - 8 p.m.

Change for dinner

8 p.m. - 11 p.m.

Dinner with Prince Philippe, Dowager Princess, Genovian military advisors

December 22

8 a.m. - 9 a.m.

Breakfast with members of Genovian Olive Growers' Association

10 a.m. - 11 a.m.

Christmas-tree lighting ceremony, Genovia Palace Courtyard

ll:30a.m. - 1:00 p.m.

Meet with Genovian Historical Society

1 p.m. - 3 p.m.

Lunch with Genovian Tourist Board

3:30 p.m. - 5:30 p.m.

Tour of Genovian National Art Museum

6 p.m. - 7 p.m.

Visit Genovian War Veterans Memorial, place flowers on grave of Unknown Soldier

7:30 p.m. - 8:30 p.m.

Change for dinner

8:30 p.m. - 11:30 p.m.

Dinner with Royal Family of Monaco

And so on.

It all culminates in my appearance on my dad's annual nationally televised Christmas Eve address to the people of Genovia, during which he will introduce me to the populace. I am then supposed to make a speech about how thrilled I am to be Dad's heir, and how I promise to try to do as good a job as he has at leading Genovia into the twenty-first century.

Nervous? Me? About going on TV and promising 50,000 people that I won't let their country down?

Nah. Not me.

I just want to throw up every time I think about it, that's all.

Whatever. I so have nothing to look forward to. NOTHING. Not that I thought my trip to Genovia was going to be like going to Disneyland, but still. You'd think they'd have scheduled in some fun time. I'm not even asking for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Just like some swimming or horseback riding.

But, apparently, there is not time for fun in Genovia.

As if going over my itinerary wasn't bad enough, I also had to spend my dinner at Grandmere's being nice to my cousin Sebastiano. Sebastiano Grimaldi is my dead grandfather's sister's daughter's kid. Which I guess actually makes him a cousin a couple times removed. But not removed enough that, if it weren't for me, he wouldn't be inheriting the throne to Genovia.

Seriously. If my dad had died without ever having had a kid, Sebastiano would be the next Prince of Genovia.

Maybe that's why my dad, every time he looks at Sebastiano, heaves this big shudder.

Or maybe it's just because my dad feels about Sebastiano the way I feel about my cousin Hank: I like him in theory, but in actual practice he kind of bugs me.

Sebastiano doesn't bug Grandmere, though. You can tell that Grandmere just loves him.

Which is really weird, because I always supposed Grandmere was incapable of loving anyone. Well, with the exception of Rommel, her miniature poodle.

But you can tell she totally adores Sebastiano. When she introduced him to me, and he bowed with this big flourish and kissed the air above my hand, Grandmere was practically beaming beneath her pink silk turban. Really.

I have never seen Grandmere beam before. Glare, plenty of times. But never beam.

Which might be why my dad started chewing the ice in his whiskey and soda in a very irritated manner. Grandmere's smile disappeared right away when she heard all that crunching.

'If you want to chew ice, Philippe,' Grandmere said, coldly, 'you can go and have your dinner at McDonald's with the rest of the proletariats.'

My dad stopped chewing his ice.

That's how scary Grandmere is. She can make princes stop chewing ice with one sentence.

It turns out Grandmere brought Sebastiano over from Genovia so that he could design my dress for my nationally televised introduction to my countrymen. Sebastiano is a very up-and-coming fashion designer - at least, according to Grandmere. She says it is important that Genovia supports its artists and craftspeople, or they will all flee to New York or, even worse, Los Angeles.

Which is too bad for Sebastiano, since he looks like the type who might really enjoy living in LA. He is thirtyish with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and is all tall and flamboyant-looking. Like, for instance, tonight, instead of a tie, Sebastiano was wearing a white silk ascot. And he had on a blue velvet jacket with leather trousers - which aren't any better, really, than pony-skin skirts, but at least we eat cows. Nobody eats ponies, except maybe in France.