Before I get started, yesterday 3 separate friends asked me to write about 3 very separate topics. I promise to accommodate all of your wishes but I cannot do it today, because I am ill equipped. That is not to say that I can’t find anything to say about those topics because I can. It’s just that I can’t access that part of my brain today. I was up until almost midnight last night and to make matters worse something is wrong with WordPress this morning because it is auto-correcting the most basic words with words that I am certain are not English or even Olde-English at that. It’s like playing with a high-tech Ouija board and I am the word that means “beyond frustrated” (that too is locked away). Instead today we are going to talk about Cinderella and the part of the fairy tale Disney left out. If you need to brush up on the story, Cinderella is the family scullery maid lucky enough to procure a fairy godmother who uses a bit of magic to get her ready for the ball where she meets Prince Charming, loses her glass slipper which he then uses to track her down and they live happily ever after.
Last night my husband and I attended The American Cancer Society’s Celestial Gala which was chaired by friends of ours and a cause very dear to my heart. Even more fun was the fact that we were sitting at their table with a wonderful survivor and her husband, brother-in-law of the chairs husband, the manager for Jimmy Choo (who is now my new best friend as we bonded over a dance to a cover of Crazy in Love by Beyonce) and a dear friend of mine who I was room moms with years ago and her husband. Now let’s just touch on the fact that my room mom and I looked a lot alike physically in that at the time we both had naturally nearly black hair, on the small side (although you can never get me out of heels long enough to realize how short I am) , and we are both very busty. We were known as the Boobsy Bobsy Bookends”. We also have been gifted with the same brutal self-effacing sense of humor. So even though I am a blonde now, I still consider her my bookend. No topic is off-limits and you add a glass of wine and well… The evening was well enjoyed. So now you have the background lets cut to the chase.
I am old. I hit the big 40 this past summer and the only people who think 40 isn’t old are the people who are 40 or older. Ask any 21-year-old and they will confirm what I am saying. It’s clinical. Trust me that’s what they are talking about when they refer to “Advanced Maternal Age”. There are perks, however, to being 40. For instance, I don’t care one tiny bit what anyone thinks about me dancing to a Beyonce song like I think I am in the video in front of 250 people and it’s not because I think I am special because that’s not it. I have seen me naked and I am not impressed!
There was no fairy Godmother who showed up to get me ready for the ball unless you count Dr. Rankin who makes sure that I cannot scowl, fills in the lines and sends me on my way, Ellie who applies mink hairs lash by lash to my eyelashes until I flinch when I wake up thinking I am being attacked by a flock of something akin to a Steven King movie, Erika who teases, pins and curls my hair until it looks tamed but not contrived and can withstand a Category 5 hurricane, Victor who polishes my toes and applies gel to my nails and massages my feet in such a way that I felt the need to go home and confess to my husband and finally Jackie who pins, takes in and takes out every garment I own as needed depending on whether I can lay the Girl Scout Cookies or I have a touch of the stomach flu. If you find yourself singing along with Kanye right now, “I ask cuz I’m that sure, do anyone make real shit anymore?” Ummm no Kanye, they do not. I feel no compunction about it because I am old and it takes a village. I own it and again I am not afraid of your judgement.
Now Cinderella showed up to the ball and danced with the prince and he loved her very much on site. I, too, danced with my prince but he began the evening during the cocktail reception occasionally stepping on the train of my gown to which I would say quietly, “Excuse me, honey. Please mind the train.” Whenever he would stand on it I would hear the glass beads being crushed and it sounds like the breaking of a glass in a Jewish wedding.
This went on all night as my pleas for the sake of my gown became more desperate. “Honey, please watch my dress.” “Honey, PLEASE watch your feet.” “Can you PLEASE NOT STEP ON MY GOWN?” “Get. Off. My. Fucking. Dress!!!” And then finally when it was literally the last crunch for me… I body checked him. Yes, just like in hockey. He stared at me with a shocked expression and so that he knew I harbored no malice, I gave him a 1000 watt smile. Disney either edited that part out or the Prince played it smooth that night.
When Cinderella ran from the ballroom as the clock chimed midnight, she lost her shoe. I went all night in 6in Jimmy Choos. I can use the restroom without toppling over, touching the potty or getting my dress wet, you can be damned sure I won’t be losing a shoe while making my way to the car. In fact if you find a shoe of mine, call the authorities as I have certainly been a victim of foul play… Really and there will probably still be a foot in it because I am very serious about my footwear. I’m also sure that they did not mention the contusions on the bottom of your feet from popping and locking to Beyonce either. Suck it up, Cindy! It’s all part of the party!
So given the fact that our poor Cinderella hasn’t a clue once dropped by the good fairy, I thought I would help her out with a few more facts.
1. Panty lines…. They are bad. They come in all forms so if your dress is form-fitting you should check for them all. The waist- if it looks like you have a seam around your middle or a very big elastic band around your waist, this is a panty line. Hip- if there is a visible dent in your hip where your panty lives, this is a panty line. If there is a large seam running down the front of your panty that is visible, this is a panty line. If you have diagonal, horizontal or vertical lines on your cheeks, this is a panty line. If you have a ring around your thigh, this is a panty line. You have 2 options, wear Spanx or go commando. If you can’t do either choose another dress Cindy, you will be happier for it.
2. Don’t eat anything during the cocktail hour unless you are in the company of a good friend. Nothing is worse than that asparagus between your front teeth like a strobe light that polite company who is making their way around the room saying their hellos will certainly not tell you about but will stare like it’s a train wreck in the making. Husbands are useless in this regard. Don’t depend on them for teeth check because even if they spot it, they are not covert enough to point it out without alerting a 6ft radius.
3. Check yourself when you leave the restroom. Hems hanging where they should be? Nothing tucked into your panty if you wore them? no lingerie showing? no toilet paper stuck to you shoe? Nothing in your teeth, hair or hanging from your chin? Perfect, get back out there! They are playing Bruno Mars and you know what that means.. “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah”
4. Finally, you are old Cinderella. Getting to bed at midnight is going to wipe you out tomorrow. It doesn’t matter that you had one glass of wine with dinner. You are toast tomorrow. You will not be able to think straight and you could just about cry because you have a friends 50th birthday party in just 2 hours and that damn fairy godmother stood you up again!
I need a stunt double, make it quick and as long as we are at it, make her 30 so everyone thinks I look good for my age!