|Me, almost 45, slightly overweight and |
posing on my driveway in front of my distant
Ford F250. Yup. That's about right.
But the scarf is KILLER!
While the story in the movie is charming (except for the hideous, unnecessary and offensive character played by Mickey Rooney) and I feel as in love with Audrey Hepburn as the rest of the world does, I want to approach an idea. It came to me as Annie and I were attempting to photograph Abby Harris' recently finished Hepburn-esque scarf. I wanted to do a photo shoot downtown but couldn't get to Portland right now. That's when it came to me. We suburbanites are not so mundane as we may seem to be, or even wish we were.
For those of you city dwellers who may think we who live in suburbia do not share in excitement such as a lifestyle in New York may bring, think again. I have come up with some thought provoking parallels between the two universes. You may just change your mind--as you put your tongue in your cheek.
Gold diggers, secret ex-husbands (I think I may have one of those myself...you'll never know...it increases my mystery) and people who are out pretending to be somebody other than themselves? Please....those people are everywhere. The 'burbs are just crawling with women putting on their best faces, colored hair, gel nails and floral pedicures ... they just happen to be driving SUV's and wearing Columbia Sportswear and Silpada. What? Did you think you had to be hailing taxis and actually going to Tiffany's to commit fickle, childish behaviors? Okay, if you want to be more authentic, you could go to Jared's...er...I guess "he" has to go to Jared's. Maybe you could eat breakfast there.
And as for that party scene in the movie! Don't underestimate the power of the suburbanites to drink too much and misbehave.
Several years ago, I used to live in a more upscale neighborhood outside of Washington D.C. in west Loudoun County with my now ex-husband (not the secret one...that'd spoil all my mystery). Parties? Holy cow.
There may not have been a single screen writer, actress or New Yorker Reporter (there may have been one for the Washington Post...), but there certainly was an equally odd mix of attendees at neighborhood parties. Blended nicely together were housewives (some of them possibly a bit desperate), sales people, one astrophysicist, government contractors, a couple of F.B.I. agents (one a tax accountant and one retired who was not allowed to tell us what he did...CIA? Unkown quantity), a few women who sold Mary Kay on the side, one woman who thought herself above everyone else (as her family was and "old Virginia family, and didn't you know her father was a doctor?"), one secret service guy, and one family who owned a local box making company whose men were known for their unfaithful husbandly ways.
And then there was this other woman. To many of the female neighbors, she was the other woman. She was a scandalous former neighbor who was still being invited to these parties. No one knew who was telling her about them, but she always showed up. And she always seemed newly single and definitely on the prowl. The gossip was always that she'd had "work done." Liposuction, eyebrow and butt lifts, and God knows what else. All the female eyes were on her as she would slink through the door--no, literally, she had terrible posture--and make her vampish way through the crowd, trying to dance with all the husbands in the room. And you didn't hear this from me, but she may have left with a couple of them on occasion.....
Then there was always the guy--the small, slightly unattractive and slightly out of shape and slightly not-very-interesting man who would become more self-confident and funnier, if only to himself, with every drink. The man who took on this role varied from event to event. But in every case, it was certain that by the end of the night, this guy was the self-proclaimed most interesting man in the world, toasting everyone--and especially the ladies, and usually one by one--with his Costco-purchased Yellowtail Shiraz in either limerick fashion or in his own impromptu Irish blessings.
And don't tell me that New York is the only place where one stupid woman drinks too much and falls
|But admittedly, the scarf definitely improves the appearance. And is really IS|
original. No Tarjay here.
No, doubters of suburbia, we too have more than our fair share of weirdness, scandal and inappropriate behaviors.
We just don't look as good doing it.