2002-11-06 6:31 p.m.
IC #5: Crushed With Eyeliner
One of the fun things about househunting is being able to walk around inside amazing houses you'd never be able to afford. Last weekend TheBoy and I went to check out one of those outrageously expensive clifftop houses that'll go sledding down the hill at the next twitch of the San Andreas. The view was breathtaking -- so breathtaking, in fact, that as I looked out the window and down the hill I got woozy...
...and wake up on a couch, a leather couch in a very posh living room. I go to rub my eye and nearly put it out with one of my knuckles. I don't know how this happened, but this body I'm now in is not mine -- I'm about 6 inches taller and weigh much, much less. Everything is all bony and pointy. I can actually see ribs down the neckline of the ridiculous getup I'm wearing, which looks like something Kay Bailey Hutchison would wear if she went trolling for sailors after a Senate appropriations committee hearing. My head itches from the hairspray. I've got so much makeup on that I swear I hear my eyelashes crunch when I blink.
I look up and across from me are three brittle, pissed-off young women who look like they're trying to gloss up their contempt with a thick layer of sorority nice. The brunette is looking vaguely insulted, and the other two are trying not to snicker.
"I don't know how you can sleep at a time like this, Mandy," the brunette snips at me. "He will be here any minute for your dinner date."
Oh God.
This can't be happening.
I've ended up on a new season of The Bachelor.
What did I do to deserve this? Am I in hell? I grope around for a cigarette and then remember I've never smoked. Now seems like a good time to start. I twitch my leg and, unaccustomed to its new weightlessness, it flails into the glass coffee table with a loud crack. The blonde on the couch across from me lets out a most unladylike snort.
And then The Bachelor swans in, announcing, "Which one of you is Mandy? Our limo awaits." This is the guy we're all supposed to be clawing each other eyes out for, the ideal of male perfection we're all here to land. I stand up and sway a bit on my 4 inch heels while the Contempt Triplets alternately sneer at me and coo at the object of our pursuit.
"Now, now, girls," he chuckles indulgently. "You've already had your turn." And he takes my arm and leads me out to the limo. He either doesn't mind or doesn't seem to notice that he's keeping me from falling over in these damn shoes.
In the limo ride over I suddenly remember my (Mandy's, whoever's) audition:
Casting director: So what are your interests? What are you looking for in a man?
Me: I love to read. Intellectual curiosity is really important to me,
though it has to be compassionate interest, not bug-under-a-magnifying-glass
interest. Movies, photography, food, architecture, politics -- oh, and
(camera clicks on)
shiny objects.
(camera clicks off)
The Bachelor leads me into Maison Snottee, pulls out the Louis XVI chair for me, and we place our orders. The "conversation" really gets rolling once we've had a little wine:
The Bachelor: I'm so glad you're interested in shiny objects! I am too.
Me: That's --
The Bachelor: With my investment banking job I can by a lot of them.
Me: I --
The Bachelor: I work for my daddy's, uh, run my family's chain of investment
banks.
Me: How interesting. I work in --
The Bachelor: We have 15 of them all over the midwest and I .. blah blah ..
corporate jet .. blah blah .. mansion and a yacht .. blah blah .. hey, you're
really tucking into that food! You must be hungry.
Me (muttering): Don't worry -- I'll throw it all up later.
The Bachelor: That's nice. Did I tell you about my Porsche?
Hey, at least the dinner was good.
After dinner, he takes me back to the house and the producers announce it's time for the Rose Ceremony.
"Mandy," the Bachelor oozes, puppy-eyed, "I had a marvelous time at dinner and you're such a great girl. Will you take this rose?"
"No!" I yelp, and try to bolt. But I can't run far in those 4-inch heels and slip, bonking my head on the wall...
...and woke up on my own couch. "Magpie, did you have a bad dream?" asked TheBoy, at which point I promptly burst into tears. "4-inch heels... no cigarettes... my ass was gone... eyeliner... oh God, it was awful!" I sobbed, snuggling into his chest. I've never been so happy to be home.