My $10 IKEA bedside mirror (it's called Ram, as part of Sweden's plans for reclaiming it's cultural imperialism over other Scandinavian countries) sits at an angle beside my bed. It's there for a reason. I wear makeup only occasionally and dress up once every two weeks when I feel like it. I don't need a mirror to look at myself for the regular purposes most other women would need mirrors for. Looking into all available reflective surfaces when I am out in public, suits me fine.
Zadie didn't know this of course, so while she was vacuuming the room, she mentioned moving the mirror to somewhere more sensible, like the space beside the door.
Me "No, don't move it."
Her "But it doesn't make sense! You can't see yourself in it like that."
Me "I know. But... just don't move it."
Her "Why? If it's there you can see yourself when you need to do your makeup before going out."
Me "I do my makeup in the bathroom."
Her (picking up the mirror anyway) "But you can't access the cabinet if it's placed like this!"
Me "Oh sod it. It's a sex mirror."
Her (bursting out laughing and sitting on the bed) "Fuck! You're so naughty Isabella."
Me (huge grin) "Yeah. It's great man. I love it. I want to put one up on the ceiling too."
Her "Oh my god. You're so bad..."
Anyway, after that point she started telling me more shit about some of the people she looked after. I never thought the job of being a maid could be this interesting. I guess for most maids out there it isn't, but if you specialize in fixing up the lives of alcoholic expatriates of all shape and form, you can have quite an interesting time. I swear to god, if she wrote a book, it would become a bestseller. Her life is fucking hilarious, and she has one of those observer/explorer personalities that make her able to tolerate even the strangest shit flung her way.
At some point she started telling me about this guy called Hendrik. He was a new addition to this flat she had been looking after for a few years, after the previous Irish horn-dog was kicked out for bringing home one too many OT girls. This apparently did not sit well with the land-lady and her attempts to Christianize him.
The first week she was practically gushing about him. The basic description of Henrik was "Sweet, beautiful blonde boy with blue eyes (I have a feeling she also has a thing for blue eyes. There is always a specific mention if so-and-so has blue eyes) in his late twenties/early thirties, tall, fit, funny, open-minded but very polite and soft-spoken."
To me, that was just like, dreamboat. Also, it was typically Swedish. About all the Swedish men I know are exactly like that. They've got this whole blonde haired, blue eyed, gorgeous, kind and totally unpretentious thing going on. Actually so do the women. I guess they are all like that because of this "Undfellenhet" thing, whatever the hell it is. It's probably like the Finnish "Sisu" thing, you don't get it unless you were born on the Northern Rim into a land of eternal summers, never ending winters, socially liberal policies, over-educated people, bountiful natural resources etc.
The next week, she comes back telling me a little more about this guy. "He's a really naughty boy. Condoms under the keyboard, lots of shagging going on, probably not with the same woman, but I can't know for sure."
Me, "Wow. Now you're talking. Sounds like my kinda guy. I mean, I don't need a guy right now, but he could be fun."
Her, "Oh Isabella, he's not good."
Me, "He's very good. I mean, he's both polite and shags a lot. I would very much like to meet him. Most of the men I know are just like that. What's his last name? I can Facebook him."
Her, "I don't know. I'll ask him the next time."
Apparently his family name was Svensson. I almost pissed myself laughing.
Me, "Fuck. Every other guy in Sweden is called Henrik Svensson. It's totally useless."
Her, "Oh just forget him. I know this other Russian guys called Andrew who is really sweet, and quiet, and thoughtful, and organized, and does nothing but read all day in his room..."
Me, "Oh my god no. Totally unsuitable. Does he have a fit body?"
Her, "Yeah, I see him going to the gym and stuff. He's a good looking guy."
Me, "Hmm... but anyway I'm looking for random people to go party with, good boys and me don't go well. In fact, they almost always end in a bad way."
She protests a bit but I showed her some of my drunken party photos... particularly this one (which is SO fucking BAD I'm glad you can't see my face in it, even if you know it's me. And the other person in it is a girl just in case you can't see that) and she gave in.
I wrote a note to this Henrik Svensson and gave it to her. Okay, least you think I'm desperate, I just felt it was a good idea, because if he did contact me that would mean he was a totally random person which is good, and that he was easy going and it was just kind of meant to be. Because you gotta admit, it was a pretty weird, but not implausible, way to get to meet someone. And you know, fuck it. It didn't cost me anything, and it made for a good story. Plus it riled some feathers.
So what happened was that Zadie left the note on Henrik Svensson's computer desk beside the condom wrappers, to-do lists and financial manuals because he had gone back to Sweden to visit his family. Unfortunately for my little note, which I now wished I wrote in Swedish (not that I can do this myself) was intercepted by his current girlfriend and thrown away. According to Zadie, Henrik had returned from Gothenburg to a rather pissed off girlfriend demanding to know who the hell was Zadie and what the hell was this note about. But obviously he hadn't a clue about the note so it was a stupid question to ask.
Me, "Oh my god. That's terrible. I thought you said he was shagging around! I hope I didn't cause any trouble. What did he say? Was he angry? Who did he say you were then to his girlfriend?"
Her, "Well I don't know for sure, I always assumed he had a kind of regular partner here, but I didn't think it was anywhere serious. He wasn't angry, he was laughing when he told me about it. He told her that Zadie was the fantastic lady that cleaned the entire flat and arranged everything and sorted out the laundry and made life possible. Anyway, he said he has a life back in Sweden and spring break in Singapore is going to be over for him soon, so he doesn't really care."
Me, "Haha no shit. He has a life back in Sweden. I've heard that one before. That girl is gonna be so mad. I mean, I wouldn't just throw out a note like that in the same situation. She probably thinks they're going to get married or something. Poor sod."
Her, "Yeah probably...."
The conversation then takes a turn for the weirder about her friend that got pregnant by some other Scandie and went back to the Philippines to raise her "blue-eyed baby" by herself. No shit.
Happy Chinese New Year. Go get laid tonight.
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