My fledgling relationship with the young Craigslist fellas seemed so promising. I thought they kind of liked that my appeal was in my personality and not my appearance, that I was in it for the money and the glory and not for a chance at a no-strings-attached roll in the hay. Sex they could get anywhere (I've seen pictures of them in shorts). But a low budget screenplay -- now that's something you don't come by every day. Okay, so I've never claimed to be all that intuitive. It explains why I'm going to be one of those old ladies who walks around with lipstick smeared all over her cheeks and lives with a dozen cats. And I hate cats.
Things went well at first. The fellas responded to my initial counter-proposition with enthusiasm and great speed. Later in the day, they asked if I'd be willing to make a telephone appearance on their friend's podcast. With the other finalists, I could only assume. I agreed to let them call me after receiving assurances that I would not have to put on makeup or change out of my flannels and do the Skype thing. Then, nothing. No exchange of so much as a fake phone number, no firm appointment. Zero. The fantasy Oscar I had been hanging onto all day was slipping through my fingers, about to drop, no doubt, right on my toes. Back to the resume with all the taunting white space, back to the real estate classifieds to search for my new double wide.
There's a bright side, I suppose. I was wondering how I was going to explain to my mother that while she was winging her way from New York to Chicago for Passover a day early just so she could visit with my older daughter I was winging my way to New York from Chicago with that same daughter for a double blind date at some goyish wedding. Then there was the issue of having to buy a new dress, since I'm fairly certain I would not be able to tuck all my newly cultivated back fat into the cute little number I wore six months ago. And, really, an entire evening spent explaining to people that I was not my date's governess -- who needs that shit?
As always, there will be other adventures, probably when I least expect it. Starbucks may introduce yet another new coffee blend. (I hope so, because I'm feeling kind of silly every time I go up to the counter and ask for a tall blond.) I might, one day, come across a pair of boots in the Nordstrom shoe department that doesn't resemble anything in my closet. Maybe I'll learn to cook and I'll find somebody out there actually willing to eat it. Maybe some genius will discover a foolproof cookies and ice cream diet. Maybe pigs will fly. The possibilities, as always, are endless.
They say life is a journey, not a destination, so even though I won't be landing in upstate New York later this month I'm keeping my seat belt fastened. I could still be in for a wild ride.
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