Required Fakeness

I am on my best behavior.  For three months.

Recently, Sharon the Wonder-Woman (see "A Tornado Hits My House" April 21, 2011) pulled me aside at her house and in her own inimitable way, had me convinced that I needed to take in an international intern from France.  The whole conversation lasted less than 5 minutes.  (How does she do that?)


Sharon and Tim have taken many foreign exchange students over the years and have found it to be a fun and rewarding experience.  We certainly have the room now that our older three are in college.  So, she explained,  a neighbor of hers had hired two international interns to work for his company for the summer.  All that was needed was a place for them to stay.  The choice was between a young girl from France and a young man from Japan.  Having no experience with men in my house (as Bob is really a man/boy), I opted for the girl and besides, I really do want to learn French.  So once I knew she had medical insurance, we were in and within three weeks, Joanna arrived.

Bob had spent the week prior getting a room ready for her.  We put her in Jennifer's room.  It was mostly empty anyway but he shampooed the carpet and moved some of the things Jennifer had in storage into Christine's empty bedroom.  I too was trying to get ready - doing the heavy cleaning, kitchen, bathrooms, pantry, dusting, vacuuming.  It was exhausting.  By the end, I found myself opening drawers and asking myself: "What is the likelihood she will ever look in here?"  Suffice it to say, there are several drawers and closets that still require armor to take on.  I just hope she never needs to go looking for band-aids or cold cream or anything from a drawer in my bathroom.  (If I actually saw her moving in that direction I'd have to tackle her in the hallway.)

The whole week before she got here felt like I was waiting to have a baby.  The night she was to arrive Bob, Grace, and I sat staring at the door like we were waiting for the doctor to appear and tell us she had ten fingers and toes.  Finally, we heard the knock and immediately my feelings shifted from those of waiting for a baby to those of going on a first date.

Would she like us???  In that moment before I opened the door I was suddenly flooded with the reality that we were going to have to be nice.  All the time.  Oh my gosh.  What a Herculean challenge.  


"Wait a minute," I thought. "What if we don't like her?  I mean, she's from Paris.  Isn't there some sterotype about aloofness and rudeness?  Maybe we can be ourselves after all."  


No such luck.  We opened the door to gorgeous, gracious, polite, and friendly young woman who has been nothing but agreeable and accommodating for the past three weeks.


So - we have been nice.  We do not yell.  We do not swear.  We use the manners we were taught growing up.   We exhibit patience.  We are kind to one another.  Even when we don't want to be - especially when we don't want to be.   We yield to one another.  And we keep the kitchen clean.  All the time.   And we do this because we don't want her to think poorly of us.  We do it because we want her to like us.  We do it because we don't want her to tell her friends and family back in Paris - people we will never meet in a million years - that we are pigs.  We do it because we must.  We cannot be ourselves.  And it turns out - it isn't that difficult. 


I hope she stays forever.