Tag Archives: doris day

The Scary Hag in the Kitchen

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This morning, after the cleaning massacre in three part harmony that occurred here yesterday, I laid around in my jammies and made a doctor’s appointment or two.  Or six.  

 

All my life, except for one small event, I’ve been super healthy.  I eat right, I exercise, I take a giant handful of vitamins everyday, twice a day.  I drink only water and, just a tad of alcohol.  No milk, no sodas, I never have. I juice kale, for crying out loud.  I have a LOT of energy.  Lots of it.  I know my family wishes I had a bit less. 

 

I’ve also been someone who scoffs at those with allergies, those with nasty, rashy skin, those complaining of aches and pains.  I am now shouting to the universe “I’M SORRY!!!!”.  I take it back.  All of it.  I’m sorry I made a mean high school girl’s face at people covered in pink calamine lotion.  I’m sorry I laughed at those with poison ivy woes, those with inhalers.  I really and truly apologize.  Please, karma, don’t let it be wine to which I’m allergic.  I promise to send in my St. Jude’s donation.  I promise not to swear at slow drivers (when they can actually read my lips and hand signals.  I feel that’s a good compromise.)

 

This summer, coming home from the lake, I developed a weird rash that covered me in pink camouflage by evening.  I went to a doc in the box, had a shot that hurt WAY more than it should, plus the added injustice of showing my spot riddled tee-hiney to a doctor half my age.  All was fine.  Then, months later, it happened again, out of the blue.  Again, I did the same thing but picked an older, less attractive doctor.  This Christmas, it came back with a vengeance.  This time, on my FACE.  My left eye swelled so that I resembled Marty Feldman.  I produced a bright red flush around my mouth that looked like I had forgotten to wash off Halloween makeup.  

 

So now, it’s returning.  This morning, I called an allergist.  I also called my breast care specialist, my gynecologist, my hormone doctor, my dermatologist because all this frowning has caused me to be able to form an expression and that, at least, I know can be remedied for four months with a shot!  I need to see the eye doctor, because I never have and I find that the world has taken on a fuzzy look but I found a really cute paisley pair of reading glasses at the dollar store and I’m just going to stick with that.  I’m scared of what I’ll see if I really can see.

 

Most of all, I called my hair dresser, who really can make a difference. 

 

The Goose was dilly-dallying around in the kitchen while I was making these appointments, waiting for his magic work pill to kick in, and I realized he was giving me serious and concerned glances.  Not the glances that say “hey, you’re looking kinda good here in this gloomy kitchen light” or “gee, I have never loved you more”.  It was more of the kind of glance Dorothy gave the Wizard when she pulled away the curtain.  

Girls, I realize now that I negligently made a classic mistake this morning.  Never, never, never let them see what keeps us propped up and looking like we’re 25.  Okay, 35.  Well, looking a little less like Mrs. Doubtfire.  I might as well been sitting there in a girdle and curlers with a cigarette hanging from my lips.  

 

I have no answers for how to remedy this.  I am scared of this old age thing. I was sure it would never find me.  I thought I was exempt since I still think I’m 16 inside. I’m going to work on it today, though. I will be braving the cold day with my top down (my car, not my shirt, dear God no), I am going to listen to rap. I might have to reach back into the knowledge of “What Would Doris Day Say?” and buy an actual negligée, I might have to wear gold lame, a push up bra and heels.  I know that I will not be bending over, with a giant swollen eye, in flannel jammies, picking up the poo Matilda left under the piano when the Goose comes back in tonight, though.  That probably wasn’t me at my best.  

 

What Would Doris Day Say?

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ImageOccasionally, when my good family gets up to attend church, I decline.  In past years, I sometimes made up a headache (not always made up after Saturday night), a sore throat or female malady.  These days, I just decline on the basis of not being able to face my closet.  It seems monumental, especially in winter, to pull together an outfit.  So, sometimes, I opt to be home alone.  This allows for my favorite indulgence ever, the Doris Day movie event.

Inevitably, on any given Sunday, (take that, you sports freaks), there will be a Doris Day movie playing during the morning hours.  If the day is cloudy and cold, it is almost too delicious to bear.

I get that women needed to vote, I understand equality, I fully agree that women should be paid on level with men, but ladies, ladies, oh what we let slip along the way.

There are 11 truths that can be gleaned from Doris Day.  They are, in no particular order:

  1. Gold Lame goes with anything.  If you are wearing your husband’s t-shirt and boxers and whip on a gold lame wrap, you can achieve a glamour level of 7 or above in an instant.
  2. If you just use a soft voice and a lovely smile while you are plotting something devious, adding in a sexy nod of the head, you will certainly get away with it.  I’m sure DNA evidence and detailed autopsies will make this harder for today’s ladies, but, in the event of questioning, I’d again suggest the lovely toothy smile.
  3. Every woman should own and wear long silk peignoir sets instead of the aforementioned t-shirt and boxers.  Apparently, the sight of these render a man senseless and this, girls, is when you should ask for that kitchen remodel or new car. If you are asking for a new kitchen, I know a really good designer.
  4. A rich handsome man can always be reformed.
  5. If one is angry, there is no need to swear, crossing one’s eyes and blowing one’s bangs is enough to cause husbands, shopkeepers and milkmen to quake.  In this case, I’d have to agree.  Today’s TV has upped the epic tantrum level across the board and no one pays attention to an angry chick unless a car is driven through the garage door or something is thrown and broken.  I say, bring back the seething and the searing looks.
  6. There just can’t be enough satin, leopard prints, and kitten heels in our lives.
  7. Periodically, men should be coming home with gifts artfully wrapped where we can just lift off the lid and the box will remain beautiful.  There should be something really good in there.  Really good.
  8. Everyone needs a handsome gay friend like Rock Hudson.
  9. Women look great in hats.  When and why did we give up hats?  Women love accessories and we just let that one get away.  I submit that the emergence of the enormous handbag is overcompensating our phantom pain over the loss of our hats.  Can you imagine going shopping with your friend and getting a fabulous hat?  Taking it home in a box? How fun would that be?  If every woman went out today and purchased a glamourous hat and we all agreed to wear them, say, next Tuesday, we could change the world.
  10. All the remaining problems in the world, once we bring back hats, can be solved while talking on the phone to our best friend while sitting in a bubble bath.
  11. ImageSleeping with Cary Grant is the best revenge. Wait, that just slipped out.  Well, I’ll let it stand because, um, CARY GRANT! Without a doubt still the dishiest man ever.  Ever.

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So, by the time my family comes home I’m out of bed, a blue bird on my shoulder, wearing an apron and humming a tune.  If I knew how to bake a pie I would, but I don’t want to have to try out the toothy smile while explaining poisoning to the police just yet. These movies give me a happy feeling all day and it makes me think that we’ve gone awry somewhere.  Things just seemed lovelier back then.  I am longing for a big hairdo and a pastel colored car.

My Doris has, in fact, given us many life lessons not the least of which is why have we given up being glamorous?  Today, let’s all put on our gold wraps and false eyelashes,  don our heels and try out our lovely smiles and nods today and see just what we can get away with.

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