Life … or something like it
by Kate Zimmerman for the North Shore News
STANDING on the corner of Marine Drive and Taylor Way waiting for my ride recently, it occurred to me that I must look like the world’s most disappointing hooker.
Lecherous fellows just out of the Park Royal Mcdonald’s drive-through might have seen a female figure chewing her gum and swinging her purse from a distance and briefly imagined a romp on the mouldy mattress in the back of the RV. Randy fishermen just finished shucking off their lifejackets might have imagined this faraway silhouette to be as lively and tender as a salmon that has just jumped to the hootchie.
But no. Life is full of deceits. I was not shaking my hips to the tune of Donna Summer’s Bad Girls, which no doubt constantly plays in every working girl’s head. I was trying to shimmy the salt from my New York Fries off my jacket front and onto the street. As for swinging my purse, why not – it’s probably how Paris Hilton got her biceps.
Nevertheless, it was false advertising on my part. And the prospective johns must have been not just dismayed but perhaps even disgusted.
“So this is what passes for a streetwalker in West Vancouver,” they must have thought sadly. “A middle-aged frump who looks like she’d do anything, badly, for a $10 gift certificate to Talbot’s.”
I admit to being a weak magnet for any Dodge Dart Don Juan. The only sign that I might have any life in me yet were the fishnet stockings I was sporting, which, sadly, would have been a lot more productive strung across the Capilano River. I did notice the crushed expression on the men’s faces. I tried giving the odd driver a wink, to buck him up, but the shuddering got me down.
Ah, well. It’s nice to fantasize that one might be attractive to the desperate, even if it’s only for 30 seconds from half a kilometre away. And it’s good to know that if I ever again am in (or on) the market, Debbie Travis might be willing to help.
Yes, the star of the home improvement show Debbie Travis’ Facelift has a new TV series starting up, called Sexy Girl. I’m not quite sure what makes Travis an authority, unless men are now mesmerized by women who smell of turpentine. My guess is that the indomitableTravis bossed the Life Network into it.
Anyway, I looked up the show on the Internet and discovered that it is seeking participants. Sadly, its casting call is aimed at women between the ages of 25-35 “who are in dire need of a makeover and can’t remember what it’s like to feel sexy.” As everybody knows, people under the age of 25 are already so sexy it hurts — hence, the pouting. The rest of us will have to wait for the casting call for Sexy Old Bat, possibly hosted by Phyllis Diller.
Luckily, though, the Life Network isn’t stopping at searching for potential “sexy girls.” According to its website, it’s also looking for those who are planning on having cosmetic surgery, pronto, and would like to share their liposuction and chin lifts with the viewing public for a show called Skin Deep. Presumably, those candidates rejected for Sexy Girl on the grounds of utter repulsiveness are welcome to apply to Skin Deep.
We can only hope that many of the on-screen operations will be botched, for it’s only by examining others’ mistakes that we truly learn something. And not only that. These cock-ups could spawn a show called Debbie Travis’ Messed-Up Girl, where women who now look like Michael Jackson can win a sympathetic ear and a one-way ticket to Bora-Bora.
The Life Network is also looking for Vancouver-area mothers. “Ever feel under-appreciated?” its casting call for “Crash Test Mommies?” asks, in a hilarious understatement. “Do your friends think your job is a piece of cake? How would you like to enjoy a great escape and sweet revenge at the same time?”
The idea is simple. “Let a special friend or family member experience the daily challenges of household chores, meals and meltdowns while you enjoy two days of all expenses paid pampering at a fine hotel and spa.”
Sounds good. I nominate someone with triplet toddlers to trade places with George Jonas, the National Post columnist who recently wrote one of those insightful commentaries on child-rearing that the childless do so well. According to Jonas, who sounded as though he’d never spent more than three incredibly tense hours in the presence of anyone under the age of 20, parents should be much more strict. It’s for the child’s own good. Honestly, I wish I’d thought of setting some rules myself. He made it sound so simple. I can’t wait to see how he whips those triplets into a precise little army.
In case none of the above Life Network categories suits you but you still want to have your 15 minutes, think about popping the question on camera.
It doesn’t matter whether you love the pop-ee or not. (Sheesh! Obviously!) It’s all about fame, Canadian style, which means that the next time you go to Tim Horton’s, the doughnut server might glance at you with a glimmer of recognition.
Anyway, the Life Network wants “real-life marriage proposals” for its pilot episode of Say Yes & Marry Me. I guess nobody in this day and age does this quietly, taking bended knee to hardwood in front of an audience of one. “Whether it’s proposing while dangling upside down from a bungee chord (sic), flying over Niagara Falls in a helicopter or dressing up as a knight in shining armour – with white charger to boot – every zany idea will be considered for broadcast,” the casting call gushes. Naturally, Life will also be interested in filming the proceedings when your spouse of six weeks divorces you on the grounds of being “too frickin’ zany.”
But not before the pair of you star on Exchanging Vows, for which Life wants you to tie the knot – “with a twist!” This casting call reads as follows: “With the help of a wedding consultant you and one other couple will compete to see who can come closest to planning the other’s dream wedding. The winners will receive a romantic honeymoon vacation.”
I’ve been to enough weddings to know that this is a recipe for disaster, followed by fruitcake, which is redundant. I urge you to resist the impulse to plan a complete stranger’s wedding and join me on the corner of Taylor and Marine, if crushing other people’s fantasies is your game.
Writing > Humour
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