Oct. 03, 2003 - 11:15 a.m.
Dear Vincent,
When I was taking French, I vividly recall being asked to remember a list of vocabulary which consisted of such phrases as "death by fire" (la mort par le feu) and "to have an eye put out" (faire crever un oeil). At the time I had no appreciation of the value of said phrases. Now I realize that should I ever serve on a French jury that is charged with deciding which way a guilty man is to be put to death, I will be able to pipe right up and say "Le mort par le feu s'il vous plait."
It is said that mimicry is the highest form of flattery; I'm rather inclined to believe that the highest form of flattery is jealousy. Jennifer's gal pal must be enormously enamored of her to be jealous enough to think Jennifer is so wonderful that the two of you couldn't resist sleeping together. She must also be quite confident to believe that if she keeps Jennifer from your show, that if the two of you were sleeping together, Jennifer's absence from your show would prevent you from continuing to do so.
It's a shabby plan if you ask me.
When I find myself second guessing the full proof quality of my own schemes, I go to the fairy tales. For instance, Jennifer's gal pal could lock her up in a tall tower with a fire breathing dragon at the door. Then she could really trust Jennifer not to sleep with you. On the off chance that you, Vincent, are the sort to remain nonplussed by fire breathing dragons, forgive me, it's never come up in conversation before.
For some reason I am reminded of the Nutcracker I danced in about three years ago. It was the year the Cavalier took it upon himself to prove to the cast he wasn't gay. He actively pursued the Sugarplum Fairy. Fairy wasn't interested in Cavalier but she did enjoy it when he spent money on her. Often the Cavalier and the Sugarplum Fairy would arrive late to rehearsal looking like they'd forgotten the basics of getting dressed. Eventually when the Sugarplum Fairy wouldn't commit to a serious relationship with the Cavalier, there was a blow up of grandiose proportions... right in the middle of the pas de deux. Ah yes, it was a grand affair with the orchestra soaring and the corps gawking from the wings. I can tell you that when the Sugarplum Fairy flounced off stage the effect of her tutu swishing and bouncing added to the drama of it all. And when he, um, flounced off stage, it added to the comedy of it all. That was the only performance of the Nutcracker I've ever seen with a predominantly hostile theme.
So I decided it was time for a hair style change. Shoulder length was long enough to test my patience. Rather than crop it off I've gone curly. Now it is necessary that I have conversations with people I could usually pass by with small talk. "Whoa, Meg, whoa- did you change your hair?" (Here it is tempting to say, 'No.') So I put one hand up to tug on a curl, as if I need to check and say, "yeah I did." Four people to date then asked the following question, "Is it naturally curly?" (Here it is tempting to say, 'Yes.') But then I sigh and say, "No, I wish." Perplexed they persist, "So how did it get that way?" (And here it is tempting to say, 'Really great sex.') I factually inform them, "It's a permanent." Their eyes widen, "So how long does it last?" (Permanent...right.) (Tempting to say 'I guess until he dumps me.') But I smile and say "Until it grows out." Next in line is the question "Do you like it?" (This is a tough one. I could tell the truth. I could say I think it looks completely sexy but that sounds vain. And vanity is too complex for a conversation I'm trying to pass off.) Tentatively, I touch the curls again and say, "eh, it's all right." At which point whomever I'm talking to feels compelled to pay me the compliment it seems like I'm soliciting... "I think it looks awesome!" I smile as if surprised and chirp "Thanks! I've got to get going, have a great day!" I hear hats are in this season.
Yesterday I was shopping for black heels. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, prime shopping time for stay at home moms who check their watches every five minutes to make sure they've got enough time to get to the elementary school before it lets out at 3:30. Also prime shopping time for the senior citizens, whose eyesight isn't good enough for them to read their watches. I slipped a pair of heels on that I felt certain arched too high but I took a few turns around the store anyway. The woman behind the cash register was having an animated conversation with a faded red head buying red clogs. Waving the receipt at the red head she was exclaiming, "If I'd have known that my husband was going to leave me for Miami and that floozy who couldn't burp Tupperware if she tried I'd have skipped the big wedding." The red head nodded sympathetically and tried to subversively snatch the receipt from the cashier's hand. She missed. "I would have eloped to Vegas and I would have worn a gold mini dress." The red head's interest was caught, "My mother would have killed me if I eloped." she offered. "Mine too," confessed the cashier. "I've always wished I had worn a veil for one of my weddings" said the red head wistfully. "How many have there been?" the cashier solicited. "Welllll...." the red head drawled, "I don't know that I should say." I realized that I had been circling the women like a shark in order to listen so I stopped and picked up a shoe to pretend to be interested in. "There have been three" she offered after a pause. "Three!" the cashier exclaimed. "Soon to be four." the red head blushed. "Happiness to you both!" said the cashier, "wear your veil. If I was getting married again, I'd wear that gold mini dress short and tight, and I'd wear my heels high like those show girls." The red head captured the receipt and was off. I glanced down at the shoe in my hand to find myself holding a red rain boot. The cashier was watching me, "No not those ugly red things," she scoffed, "Take the black ones, they make your legs look good." So I did.
How long is a New York minute really?
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
