The Real Au Pairs of Paris

It occurred to me the other day as I was hungover and eating sandwiches with Matt and Caitlin on Rue Cler, that my life would make an excellent Bravo reality show. We could be the Real Au Pairs of Paris. We'd have awesome catchphrases like

"I'm not as innocent as I look."

"I may not have much money, but I always get what I want."

"Children are my life. Except on the weekends."

Then "Kathleen" in blue letters or something floats under my face as I unlock V's door, while upbeat indie pop plays. As I'm unfolding the ironing board and sighing dramatically (as I do) my phone rings and I put it on speaker so that everyone at home knows that I'm getting a call from one of my equally fabulous and broke yet extremely well-dressed au pair friends. 

"Hey girl," I say, laying out some age-3-yr pajama bottoms.

"Heyyy. So we're going to Batofar tonight."

"That costs like 10 euros, dude," (although I'm pretty sure I'm getting paid plenty by Bravo at this point it's important to keep up the ruse that I'm actually broke).

"Whatever, you're young once. I might be bring Pierre actually..." (Pierre may also be being paid by Bravo).

"Oh my God. Well then he can pay for my entry."

We laugh. I say something like "Bye, bitch," and hang up. Cut to confessional interview with me in which I say something passive aggressive and backhanded about my friend who I've just finished talking to. Probably something mean about Pierre, who we've already established is basically a plot device.

At this point everyone at home has established whether they prefer me to my imaginary phone friend or vice versa. After this interaction airs I receive hundreds of hate/support tweets. 

Later in the evening Sophie, Matt, Caitlin, and I are getting ready to go out in my apartment, which means that we're playing lots of pop music really loudly with the windows open. While I'm in the shower the guardienne comes up and informs my friends that she's already called the police because of noise complaints. Oh and it's totally inappropriate that there's a man here with three girls. The fact that he's gay doesn't seem to matter. She's also called V, who calls me and tells me not to worry and that she's already fixed it by calling off the police because she happens to know the Paris police chief, but if I get any more noise complaints they may kick me out of my apartment. (This event actually happened on Thursday. But in the reality TV version, we all blame each other in the confessional interviews. This event will also cause me an unreasonable amount of stress that will stretch for at least a few episodes.)

Later in the evening somebody cries, and the episode ends with whoever the appointed "bitch" of the group is making fun of the crier. 

I'm totally pitching this to Bravo.