Can I write a summary for television? I guess so. Evidently, we’re taking this show on the road. Advisor Girl informs me we’re going to television. At this point, who the hell am I to argue? It’s just a nationally syndicated talk show with a well known host. No biggie.
Never say you can’t do something, dolls. Tip for the day. Though the mantra serves occasionally troublesome, don’t let it stop you. You can always figure shit out on your own. Google anyone?
The form is easy enough. There are basic questions and then a recap. Seems The Fixer, and a little blog about to be renamed The Duchess Diaries (that’s this one girls), are more interesting than one would guess. Squee. I think.
How does one recap all that’s happened? Is there a package pretty enough to make this shitstorm palpable for the masses? What, exactly, is the proverbial bow to make the story attractive? Can I convey that in words? First Richard Branson and now this?
Naturally, my first thoughts steer toward clothing. Would a form fitting, really feminine suit, or a perfect sheath be best? How quickly can I shrink my ass? New shoes? Absolutely. Nails and hair and lipstick, oh my. Of course, Her Majesty The Fixer is cool as a cucumber.
“Yes. We will do this. It is not a problem. You will have fun with it. You’ll see.” Easy for her to say. She knows Richard Branson. She waves a hand as if this is an everyday conversation. I’m still worried about filming in the sex shop and sitting in a bar by myself.
Btw, I did consult a male friend who confirms what many of us were taught, a million years ago, that a woman does not sit in a bar by herself. So I didn’t pull that out of nowhere. I’m much better with some other rule changes; like women over forty wearing their hair however they want and “slut” no longer being the label for a woman acting like a man. I still haven’t gone so far as white shoes after Labor Day. I fan my face at the thought.
I know what will help. Can my pearls come along? They’ll be like a security blanket, swathing me in comfort and calm. They’ll also give me something to grasp if any of the other guests are ghastly. As everyone knows, they complement all skin tones. Imagine their power under harsh television lights. Lord knows, I need all the help I can get camouflaging the size of my ass. Pfft.