The M Bomb
A few years ago my mother called me with bone chilling news. "Your cousin is getting married," she said, and then, without so much as a you may want to sit down or is there anyone nearby to administer smelling salts should they become necessary, she dropped the M bomb.
"He's marrying a model."
A model in the family.
I live in NYC so I know all about models. I know how they are slender Amazons who are able to make an empty cab materialize as they take a gazelle step towards the curb and barely raise their arm high enough to flick their high ponytails. In NYC rush hour, that is the equivalent of parting the Red Sea.
I tried to remain calm and rational. Perhaps she was a hand model? A former model? I'd even take a plus size model in a moment of desperation. My breathing was starting to normalize.
"What is her name?" I asked, revving up the search engine. My mother wasn't sure, so I spent the time until the wedding invitation arrived in the comforting embrace of Haagen Dasz. Certainly the Good Lord wasn't going to let me grow an Auxiliary Ass if I was going to be cousins-in-law with a real life model?
The invitation arrived and I googled the shit out of her name. The good news is that she wasn't a supermodel whose name I instantly recognized. The bad news is that she was a runway-in-Milan-walking, Donna Karan-ad -campaign-posing, more- gorgeous-than-anyone-I've-ever-seen-in-person, model.
Damn.
As my "friend" John pointed out when I linked him to her photos, "If the floor weren't there, her legs would go on forever." Yes, indeed. Kick me when I'm down. With endless legs.
I know what you're thinking: How can something so unthinkable happen to someone as wonderful as Marinka? Is there no justice in the world? I wish that I had an answer. Or thinner legs.
But I am nothing if not an optimist (we will all be dead soon), so I turned to my power of positive thinking and focused on what I did best. Judgmental stereotyping.
"Listen," I told myself, "models are notoriously dim-witted. And shallow. And probably bitchy. So, I have nothing to worry about. Sure, she appears gorgeous, but would I trade my good natured personality and kind heart just to look like that?" I hope it goes without saying that the answer to that question is a resounding "HELL, YES!" but fortunately I am great with self deception and had no trouble whatsoever fooling myself.
Well, to make a long blog post slightly shorter, she wasn't stupid. She is the opposite of stupid and she is funny and she is, god help us all, kind. She is kind in a way that makes you realize that not many people are.
"A trifecta!" I wept to a friend. "Beauty, brains, kindness and a great sense of humor."
"I think 'trifecta' is three, and she seems to have four," my friend sympathized.
Is it me, or do I need better friends? Hopefully ones with Cover Girl contracts, because we'll be taking a lot of cabs together.
"He's marrying a model."
A model in the family.
I live in NYC so I know all about models. I know how they are slender Amazons who are able to make an empty cab materialize as they take a gazelle step towards the curb and barely raise their arm high enough to flick their high ponytails. In NYC rush hour, that is the equivalent of parting the Red Sea.
I tried to remain calm and rational. Perhaps she was a hand model? A former model? I'd even take a plus size model in a moment of desperation. My breathing was starting to normalize.
"What is her name?" I asked, revving up the search engine. My mother wasn't sure, so I spent the time until the wedding invitation arrived in the comforting embrace of Haagen Dasz. Certainly the Good Lord wasn't going to let me grow an Auxiliary Ass if I was going to be cousins-in-law with a real life model?
The invitation arrived and I googled the shit out of her name. The good news is that she wasn't a supermodel whose name I instantly recognized. The bad news is that she was a runway-in-Milan-walking, Donna Karan-ad -campaign-posing, more- gorgeous-than-anyone-I've-ever-seen-in-person, model.
Damn.
As my "friend" John pointed out when I linked him to her photos, "If the floor weren't there, her legs would go on forever." Yes, indeed. Kick me when I'm down. With endless legs.
I know what you're thinking: How can something so unthinkable happen to someone as wonderful as Marinka? Is there no justice in the world? I wish that I had an answer. Or thinner legs.
But I am nothing if not an optimist (we will all be dead soon), so I turned to my power of positive thinking and focused on what I did best. Judgmental stereotyping.
"Listen," I told myself, "models are notoriously dim-witted. And shallow. And probably bitchy. So, I have nothing to worry about. Sure, she appears gorgeous, but would I trade my good natured personality and kind heart just to look like that?" I hope it goes without saying that the answer to that question is a resounding "HELL, YES!" but fortunately I am great with self deception and had no trouble whatsoever fooling myself.
Well, to make a long blog post slightly shorter, she wasn't stupid. She is the opposite of stupid and she is funny and she is, god help us all, kind. She is kind in a way that makes you realize that not many people are.
"A trifecta!" I wept to a friend. "Beauty, brains, kindness and a great sense of humor."
"I think 'trifecta' is three, and she seems to have four," my friend sympathized.
Is it me, or do I need better friends? Hopefully ones with Cover Girl contracts, because we'll be taking a lot of cabs together.
posted by Marinka at
5:40 AM
14 Comments:
damn. I'll be right over. After a couple of martinis SURELY we'll come up with something to hate about her. (I'll be your better friend, honey.)
I'm always here to be catty and snark about models and/or relatives with you. Always.
I love your optimism! Sounds just like mine. What's not optimistic about dying?
trip her when nobody is looking.
I feel for you on this one. My husband is East Indian, so I am one of three white people who have married into the family.
One is a very old English gentleman who lives in London with one of husband's cousins. No threat there. The other however, lives near us and is a fabulously beautiful lingerie buyer for Nordstrom department store. she married husband's cousin.
Not only is she always fashionable and has great hair, BUT she is kind hearted and a great mother. I am so screwed. I honestly can't think of anything mean to say about her. She won't even trash talk the other family members with me!!!!
Damn, now I'm pissed off. Thanks a lot.
The same way I felt when I discovered my favorite cousin was living with a chef. Every day I send them very strong vibes via ESP never to visit and have to sample my burnt offerings. So far it has worked very well. My brain is getting a little tired though.
A model? My brain would probably explode.
First dibs on the handbags you don't want!
She sounds so sweet! What a wonderful addition to your family. Oh, wait. That's not the direction you wanted me to take with this, is it?
Maybe you'll get free stuff if you guys hang out together more. That's what *I* would bank on.
my take? so glad you asked.
it's not like you are competing with her for your cousin...
and if you were...ew.
those model type especially piss me off when the get pregnant, though.
and then lose the baby and pounds within an hour.
Maybe she could hook you up with a 'model' boytoyarinka to replace that doddy husbandrinka model with the smartass remarks. You know, a trophy husband for the highly sucessful career woman you are, and a playmate for the kiddies.
Wow. I'm so sorry. Just remember that if you can't say anything nice, please come sit next to me. :)
Life ain't fair, that's for sure. You have my sympathies.
And yes, you need better friends. Not ones like MGT who just get pissed off and all. I, however, won't be much help in the cab department unless you talk me in to flashing my boobs at the drivers.
OMG this one had me laughing out loud! I love your asides - too freaking funny. We'll all die soon anyway. HAHA!
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