A couple of weeks ago at preschool drop-off, a boy in my younger son’s class looked up at me.
“Wow,” he breathed. “You look just like Princess Elsa.”
You guys, I’m well aware today—as I was that day—that the child is 3 ½ years old and his brain isn’t fully developed yet and whatnot…but you know what? I’ll take it.
That very same day, a friend of mine texted this picture to me with the cheeky message, “For some reason, this reminded me of you…?”
Folks, I don’t look like Princess Elsa. The only thing that we have in common is that I bleach the shit out of my hair to the point of old-people whiteness. Somehow mine ends up looking more like a 72-year-old barmaid’s than it does a beautiful snow princess, however. I suppose it’s all in the attitude?
Anyway, there was obviously something wrong with that kid’s eyes, but I did get what my friend was saying.
Because I can take anything beautiful—even a Disney snow princess—and trash the shit out of it just by association.
Like the time I attended a classy wedding reception in the big city.
Let me set the stage for you: Low lighting; soft jazz music playing in the background; beautiful, twinkling tea lights scattered throughout; a huge head table adorned with fresh flowers and strings of small white lights; the gorgeous bride decked out in a flowy white gown; handsome groomsmen in fine tuxedos; a large buffet table with delicious meats, fish, pastas, and vegetables smothered in sauce.
As I walked to the buffet and picked up a plate, however, I was intercepted by two good-looking groomsmen who told me, not unkindly, that I wasn’t allowed to be eating from the buffet. They steered me gently toward the door of the hall where the wedding reception was being held and delivered me into the arms of my disbelieving friends.
It seems I didn’t know the lovely couple getting married.
Yeah, I had come straight off of a particularly wild Billy Joel concert with friends and stumbled into the reception hall, thinking it was another stop on our post-concert pub crawl and that the free buffet was just a bonus.
Damn that Billy Joel. I still blame him.
Anyway, back to the picture. Everyone knows I only smoke when I drink, and even then, hardly ever. Remember my trip to Eastern Europe? There was a shit-ton of drinking going on then, yet I still have about half of the pack of ciggies I bought there…in June. They’re hidden on top of my refrigerator just in case I ever get an inkling for a stale ciggie with my Leinenkugel Snowdrift Vanilla Porter—which happens to be a seasonal ale that I can’t find anymore, so I may need a stale ciggie to get me through the pain of having to wait until next winter to have another of those beers. DELICIOUS!
Basically, what I’m saying is, my friend kind of missed the mark by comparing me to the picture above.
However, if she added a Captain and Coke (and let’s be honest here, because we all know that when I want a drink, I use Admiral Nelson, which is a cheap knockoff of Captain Morgan) to Elsa’s other hand, she’d be a hell of a lot closer.
**AND THE WINNER IS...***
Last Friday, I did a book review and giveaway for What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty. The winner was to be announced today, and after picking a name out of a hat (seriously, that was my method, and it wasn't even a "virtual" hat because I'm a technodumbass; it was an old Redskins hat of my husband's--so if you didn't win, blame the Redskins) I am happy to announce that the winner is...
Thank you all so much for playing along. It made my week that you were commenting and sharing, and I will SO do it again.
JoAnn, I couldn't find a blog link of yours to share here, so I'm sorry about that. :( Please drop me an e-mail at email@example.com letting me know which Moriarty book you'd like and where to send it.
Thanks again, everyone!