Chick Wit: Seeking apartment, agreement | News | TV Online

Chick Wit: Seeking apartment, agreement

June 05, 2011|By Lisa Scottoline, Inquirer Columnist

I was apartment-shopping with Daughter Francesca when I realized that the sort of apartment that appeals to a mom is a lot different from the one that appeals to a daughter.

Here is what she wants: pretty.

Here is what I want: security.

Here is what she wants: charm.

Here is what I want: a doorman.

Here is what she wants: sunlight.

Here is what I want: a moat.

Uh-oh.

I thought we needed a better-managed building, and we rent an apartment together. She lives in it all the time, and I use it when I go to New York to see the opera or on business. To be honest, I don’t have tons of “business” in New York. By “business,” I mean “make up excuses to see my kid.”

Not monkey business, mother business.

Hotels in Manhattan are crazy expensive, and I like to check Francesca out without checking in, if you follow.

What I do is trump up some afternoon meeting with my publisher, or whoever else will meet with me. Sometimes, nobody will. In fact, the next time you’re in the city, let me know. I’ll meet with you. Then I’ll use the meeting as an excuse to spend three days with Francesca, spying.

I mean, er, visiting.

That’s the thing about kids. They can run, but they can’t hide. And sometimes, they can’t even run. Francesca is fast, but she’s not fast enough. I’m the Runaway Bunny of Mothers.

Call it being a good mom.

Or stalking.

Either way, we found ourselves in New York, standing inside a perfect box of an apartment, located in a perfect box of a building, situated behind a fence of wrought iron topped with sharp points.

For impaling bad guys.

If you saw The Omen, you knew that already.

Plus it had a doorman with a desk, and hopefully an automatic weapon.

In other words, Mommy wanted to sign the lease, but Daughter was less eager. “It’s not charming,” she said.

“The doorman is charming,” said I. “And a good shot.”

“Don’t you think the apartment is kind of – corporate?”

“Absolutely. Your point is?”

Francesca looked around at the other residents. “There’s not many people my age.”

Of course she was right about that. The place could have qualified as a retirement home, which appealed to me immediately, as I intend to retire any year now, though that year has recently been pushed back to 3017.

Still, I preferred to accentuate the positive, so I told her, “Think of it as having a lot of substitute mothers. If you ever have a question about whether to preheat the oven, you can ask almost anyone.”

Francesca was still frowning. “And it’s kind of expensive.”

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