The Nanny Diaries Page #3

but I'm trying to squeeze

in a little shopping

before my

Parents' Society meeting,

which reminds me...

please pick Grayer up

from the Christian preschool...

- Wow!

...at 2:
15 sharp.

It's extremely important

not to be late.

Ooh.

As you can see,

I have attached a list

of basic house rules.

Hello, Manolo.

- We believe it's important

to maintain some sense

of structure in our home

for Grayer's sake.

Rule number one:

Grayer and his playmates

are never allowed

- in the master bedroom.

- Oops.

Of course, you should refrain from

entering our bedroom as well.

Rule number two:

Grayer is never allowed

to nap during the day.

No naps?

This throws his sleeping

schedule completely off.

And I prefer him tired

when I get home.

Rule number three:

- we just had the walls redone.

- Mm-hm.

Please keep Grayer from

rubbing up against them.

- Oh!

- Rule number four:

if school is

ever canceled,

the following nonstructured

outings are permissible...

the Met,

the Morgan Library,

the French

Culinary Institute,

the New York

Stock Exchange.

Rule number five!

- we do not take

the subway because of germs.

Oh God.

Grayer still must

be in a stroller

- when crossing Park or Madison.

- Blah blah blah.

Grayer maintains

a high-soy

organic diet.

Rule number eight:

practice French with Grayer

at least three times a week.

His father wants him to

attend Collegiate

where he's currently

wait-listed.

French?

Holy merde.

His acceptance is

a top priority.

Mon Dieu.

Nanny?

Nanny?

- What are you doing?

- The note said

to pick up Grayer

from school at 2:15.

Hm.

And it's only...

it's only 1:
00.

So I was a little sweaty from moving

and I thought that I would, you know...

What I mean is, what are you

doing in that bathtub?

And why are your bags

strewn all over

the guest room?

I thought that

was my room.

No.

No, Nanny.

This is your room.

Oh.

Okay.

Yeah, this is...

very sweet.

Hmm.

I'm sorry.

Do you have the time?

2:
15.

So they'll be getting out

anytime now?

- 2:
45.

- I'm sorry?

They get out

every day at 2:
45.

Dumbass.

It quickly became clear

that Mrs. X had arranged

for me to arrive everywhere

torturously early.

Get ready, ladies.

Here they come.

Grayer?

Grayer?

- Grayer X?

- Who is it you're looking for?

- Grayer.

- I know that one.

He plays with my

wee monster, Darwin.

- Hy-ya!

- Ow!

Oh, Grayer,

there you are.

Hey, little man,

you remember me?

Yes, and I hate you!

What? Come on, we get

along great, remember?

Like when we met

in Central Park?

Let me get

your backpack.

Stop. Grayer, stop.

Help, police! She's hurting me!

- They usually start out that way.

- Yes.

- Danger, danger!

- Just be patient, eh?

- Let me put you in your stroller, okay?

- It'll get easier.

- Hang on one second.

- I'm too big for a stroller!

- Grayer!

- Help!

- Grayer!

- Police.

Grayer!

Grayer!

Grayer!

Come here!

- I hate you, I want Bertie!

- I know, honey.

I know you want Bertie.

Bertie had to leave to get married

or go on a date

or something, okay?

But I promise, we're gonna have a lot

of fun together, honestly.

All right? Now let me see how handsome

you look in your uniform.

What's that?

- Oh.

- Don't touch that!

It belongs to my daddy!

I hate you. I want Bertie.

Grayer.

Already, one had to wonder...

what kind of culture would

turn a father's business card

into a security blanket?

Here we are.

Home sweet home.

First mission accomplished.

Grayer, get up off the floor.

It's very dirty.

Nuh-uh.

I have an idea.

Why don't we race

to the front door?

Okay, last one there is

a rotten egg.

I'm not stupid.

You're just gonna let me win.

No, I am a mighty

good runner, mister.

- Not with your pants down.

- Oh my God!

Oh sh*t!

The stroller!

Sh*t!

Grayer!

You said a curse.

I'm telling Mommy.

Grayer, I am not kidding.

Open this door right now.

- Maria!

- Touch my fingers.

- Ow!

- I am not letting go...

...until you open the door!

Ow!

Pardon me.

I think this belongs

to Grayer.

Rode the elevator to

the 12th floor.

- Thank you.

- You're welcome.

Sorry, we're having a little

bit of a situation here.

By the way, my name's...

Since my job required a vow of chastity,

it was essential that

I avoided all intimacies,

especially first names.

For the purpose of

this field diary,

let's just call him

Harvard Hottie.

I'm the Xs' new nanny.

- Oh.

- Very new, as you can probably tell.

I'm taking off all my clothes.

Seems to be popular

on this floor.

Mind if I take a crack

at him for you?

Be my guest.

Hey, Grayer,

it's your pal from upstairs.

Hey, would you be a sport

and unlock the door?

It's not nice to

lock people out.

Please, buddy?

- Hey.

- Why are you here?

Oh, I'm just helping out

my new friend.

Annie.

Annie.

Annie the nanny.

She's your friend?

Yes, she's my friend.

Isn't she your friend too?

Not yet.

- Thank you.

- Anytime.

Suddenly the world's

most notorious loner

had two new men

in her life.

Unfortunately, I knew that

the big one was off-limits.

Based on my observations,

guys like Harvard Hottie

only slum it when they're in college.

So, instead of

following my heart,

I focused on finding a way

into Grayer's.

Grayer, stop it.

Why can't we

be friends?

Befriending Grayer

certainly wasn't easy.

La la la la la la!

But then again, Margaret Mead

didn't run home every time

- she contracted malaria.

- Whoa!

You're in trouble!

I thought this job

was supposed to be

a way to get

your head together?

Two weeks in and you already sound

depressed, dejected and paranoid.

You forgot to mention

malnourished.

I swear, all these people eat

is bean curd and seltzer.

Ew.

I mean, even the ice cream

is made out of tofu.

So why don't you come down

and have dinner with us then?

My new roomie's

making gumbo.

It's not gumbo.

It's Creole bouillabaisse.

I don't get it.

You move to the city and overnight

your life becomes "Will & Grace."

I'm here, knee-deep in...

Sh*t. It's probably my mom.

She's the only one

who has this number.

Bye.

- Hello?

- Annie?

- Hi.

- My God.

An entire week has gone by

and you haven't called me back.

Mom, I told you I was gonna

be so busy with work.

Oh come on.

You can't find five minutes

to call

your worried mother?

How are you, honey?

How's the job?

How's the apartment?

God, everything

is just perfect.

I mean, the job

is a dream.

A little challenging.

So rewarding though.

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