Well, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days, getting back to normal life after the party. I have so much to tell you!
First, the run-up: I spent all day Saturday at a spa, just relaxing, taking an Iyengar yoga class and having a to-die-for mani-pedi with hot paraffin. Sunday, I slept in. My hair stylist made a house call, and we ate fresh organic raspberries in my bedroom while she did my hair. After she left, my husband and I made love (standing up so we wouldn’t ruin my hair) then got dressed and headed out to the LEVERAGE wrap party.
Oh my, dear reader, what a gala! The place was packed, and the LEVERAGE cast was awesome. The best part of the evening, though, by far, was getting to know George Clooney! He loved the pig salt shaker I brought to show him. He has a pepper one just like it at home. But what really, really made the night special was this memorable quote:
At one point, while we were sipping white chocolate martinis, George leaned in and murmured, “Wendy, I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but it’s damned refreshing to meet a woman who hasn’t resorted to plastic surgery.” He glanced at my husband, who was massaging my back in slow, loving circles, and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”
“Twenty-five years,” my husband spoke up proudly.
George turned his head, but not before I spotted a tear. “God, I envy you two–”
Wait, I’m getting dizzy….
Oh, these damn psychotic breaks. They really take the wind out of you.
All righty, here’s how it actually went down:
Saturday: After blogging, I decide to use the Great Clips coupon I’d been saving to get my hair cut. Before I leave, I make lunch for my daughter and her friends, who are going to stay home and play. Then I grab my car keys figuring that after the haircut I can head to the mall for a decent outfit and some good makeup.
“Mo-om! MO-OM!!!!” My daughter comes barreling out of her room. “E scratched her mosquito bite, and now it’s leaking blood all over!”
No sweat. A little Neosporin plus one Band-Aid later, and I’m searching for my car keys again. Maybe I’ll stop by Jamba Juice on my way to Great Clips….
“Honeyyyyy!” My husband hollers up from the basement. “Your dog barfed twenty pounds of kibble down here. Oh, wait. Never mind. It’s diarrhea.”
One hour later, I’m looking for my car keys again. I’m going to get a manicure, too.
“Weeeendyyyy!” It’s J, one of my daughter’s friends, hammering on the screen door. “L (my daughter) fell off her bike.” He pauses. “Well, I ranned into her hard, but then she fell, and–” he starts hyperventilating “–she’s real bloody.”
Bigger Band-Aid, lots of Bactine, but daughter isn’t consoled until I promise to make cherry juice pops and sit down to watch Sky High on cable. I wonder if Elisabetta Canalis is having this much trouble with her beauty routine.
Sunday, the day of the party: I ditch church to hit the mall. It doesn’t happen, and the reasons why are too banal to detail. When my husband announces that he is going to Bi-Mart to buy car oil, I beg him to take me with him so I can scour their makeup aisle for anything with the words “Wrinkle” and “Erase” on the same line.
Husband and I manage to get everyone fed, games set up for babysitter, and ourselves washed and dressed. I feel fairly good as I get in our uber-sexy station wagon. I used a curling iron, am wearing high heels and long-lasting lip color that so far has not trekked beyond my lip line. My husband glances over, and I give him a suggestive wink. This is our first date in so long I can’t remember. He winks back and reaches toward my bosom. That tiger. I growl at him. He picks three long German Shepherd hairs off my black knit top then concentrates on backing out of the driveway.
We get a really good parking space at the Governor Hotel and head in.
To be continued… (Because my daughter just stepped on a rock, and, yes, there is blood again….)