My husband’s a guest star on the TV show Leverage. He informed me several days ago that we are going to the wrap party, which is tomorrow night. For the past week and a half, he’s been telling me how beautiful the women and men are on this show.
Deciding to walk my talk, I opted to approach this party very differently from the way I have approached similar celeb-studded parties in the past. I used to make sure my makeup was fresh, my hair was highlighted, and my wardrobe was new. This time? I have one Maybelline eyeshadow duo with a broken plastic lid and gouges in the little cakes of color from my daughter’s attempt to apply the stuff to her dolls with a bobby pin. That stubborn gray in my hair will simply have to be appreciated as Mother Nature’s highlights. And those wrinkles–hey, some of those lines are vertical; they might be slimming. As for my boring wardrobe: I’m a work-at-home mom on a budget. Cotton will have to do.
I felt really good about my decision to go au naturel and simply enjoy the view and the company. No one’s going to be looking at me, anyway. That last realization is one of the sweet gifts of no longer being twenty.
Today, with fewer than twenty-four hours left, my darling husband mentioned that the gorgeous Italian woman he’s seen on the set is Elisabetta Canalis, George Clooney’s current extraordinary squeeze.
George Clooney is my age, give or take. I used to have a huge crush on him. He had a pet pig, remember? And he’s wry and gorgeous. And, he said he would never marry again because he wasn’t good at it, and I’m a romance writer, so that’s like telling a professional baker not to think about what she’d like to do with a couple pounds of Scharffenberger chocolate. I used to (very sorry, honey) fantasize that my husband would leave me or die young (really, really sorry, honey) and I would locate George. I’d show him my pig cookie jar, my pig mug set, my pig mini- soup tureen, and my Miss Piggy hot chocolate pot whereupon he would see how very much we had in common.
Anyway, when my husband regaled me with his six degrees of separation from Mr. Clooney I thought: Hey! What if George shows up to accompany Elisabetta to the wrap party? Stranger things have happened, right? All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so good about my lifestyle choices.
My hair is gray. I need new makeup. My clothes are an assault on the eyes. I wonder if it’s too late to change my stance on BOTOX?
Ditching the Lady Bic Personal Shaver that has served me for fifteen years , I have decided to wax for George.
I’m not completely delusional. I do realize that a.) he could be thousands of miles from this shindig, and b.) even if he’s in the same room, he’s gonna see my bare legs only if I trip in the high heels I am no longer used to, break a kneecap, scream in pain and cause his girlfriend to run over, saying, “Cara, what can we do?”
Still, I no longer feel I can go exactly as I am–all menopausal and mother-ish.
I will report back to let you know how it goes.
(And I think I’m gonna take my Babe flashlight key chain just in case, because you never know …my husband could leave or die of a heart attack when he finds out what I’m spending on my outfit for tomorrow night.)