To Renée, with love

So, OK, that's a blog about my housemaid's (or something like that) life. But sometimes I just have a really incredible life.
Only sometimes, but sometimes.
For instance, this week, I met Renée Fleming. The real, the incredible, the wonderfuuul Renée Fleming. Live. Like if she was your average real human being. I mean, Renée Fleming. Hello-o! I could have touched her - but I didn't, no decent one touches a goddess. I was just "oh my gosh, I don't believe it". I swore if I had been an American, I'd have screamed louder than will ever scream the soprano lyrique I learn to be. Perhaps I'd even have died - like this woman who met Obama, and her heart stopped a few hours later.
But, alas, I'm not an American, and, thanx God, though I'm not always sure I have to thank Him for that, I did not die.
So what happened? To make a long story short, after enjoying "Arabella" at the Opéra de Paris (yes, I love opera), I just went to see Renée Fleming at the "Entrée des artistes". I could not believe she would get out as the others singers and musicians, by the same door, walking on the same street as anyone. To be honest, I did not dare to believe I would meet my idol, but I had to try. What was I to lose?
Then I saw the musicians, and all the stars, featuring Kurt Rydl, Genia Kühmeier, Will Hartman, getting out. I was truly impressed, thinking: "Where are their bodyguards? their driver? their slaves?" There was none to be seen. I was surprised but had no real time to think. All my brain was repeating: "Is SHE going to get out this way? Won't SHE prefer some kind of a secret parking lot for superstars?" I tried to convince myself I would not see her cause I thought: "If I think SHE won't get out this way, maybe SHE will, whereas if I think SHE may get out this way, SHE won't". OK, maybe I was a little confused.
But who cares? Because, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god (so maybe I am a little bit American), not so long after the other singers, SHE went out like the others, and SHE signed autographs, and SHE stopped so that the few fans waiting for her could have pictures with HER. HER, the Perfect Goddess.
I was sooo impressed, sooo... whatever. I was just sooo.
Yeah, I guess you can say I'm in love with her more-than-beautiful singing and her never-fading out beauty. By the way, Renée, if you read that, do believe I'm more than a stupid fan (though I'm also a stupid fan): I'm OK to marry you. Just send me a message, and I'll be your forever.
Love,
Isaure.
PS: Renée, it's so difficult for me not to go and see you everytime you sing "Arabella". But, you, don't be sad though we had to go separate ways last night: I promise I'll come and see you at the Salle Pleyel the 4th of December.

Traduction hyper libre : en fait, je pensais mettre en veille les posts pendant l'été, mais j'ai rencontré Renée Fleming. J'adooore cette cantatrice, et jamais je n'aurais imaginé la voir de près (bon, j'ai flouté la photo parce que j'aime pas me voir et qu'on s'en tampiponne un peu, de ma trombine, mais vous voyez l'idée !). Et sinon, comme ma vie, c'est quand même surtout femme de ménage, je vous invite cette semaine sur cnikel.com à partager mon, donc votre, expérience hyper pro du Post-it. Rendez-vous ici pour les curieux : on peut lire, voter, commenter... On a pas mal de choix, en fait, tant qu'on est vivants ! Merci de votre curiosité, et à dimanche prochain.