I admit it, I haven’t gotten along this far in life without
going through a frightening experience or two. And by that I don’t
just mean things like getting a home perm or the disco dancing or
trying on Lycra stretch pants.
I admit it, I haven’t gotten along this far in life without going through a frightening experience or two. And by that I don’t just mean things like getting a home perm or the disco dancing or trying on Lycra stretch pants. I mean that, just when you think you’ve seen and done it all, there you will be, in the kitchen breaking up fights over who had more rainbow sprinkles on their ice cream sundae, and someone will call you up and say, ”You’re going to be on television next week.”
And then, your previously nice calm life will suddenly take a lurch towards the lunatic fringe.
Now, before you start thinking I’m making this up because I’m desperate for good column material, let me explain. My publisher had scheduled me to do a short interview for a national cable television show to promote my new book for Mother’s Day. All I had to do was drive an hour to the city, find parking, and then talk coherently into a camera for five minutes. Six, tops. He assured me the hardest part would be the parking.
And, yes, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that, for a moment, I pictured myself sitting with Oprah or Ellen, drinking coffee and chuckling over the idea that the fashion industry is trying to pass off pink as the new black. I’d compliment Oprah’s hair and Ellen and I would gush over the new Ben Affleck movie.
Then reality set in. And I don’t need to tell you that with reality comes all sort of rude awakenings. The first was that I wasn’t going to be a celebrity on Ellen or Oprah, I was going to have a fleeting moment somewhere in the midst of 1,356 cable channels, or whatever we’re up to these days; my little segment would likely be airing somewhere between a weight loss infomercial and an ad for Huggable Hangers.
The second problem was the pressure of having to spontaneously string two consecutive thoughts together to make some kind of point. Everyone knows that once you have kids most of your brainpower goes to figuring out things like who ate the last chocolate chip cookie. There’s not much left over for witty banter and intelligent repartee.
I pictured the interview going something like:
Interviewer: What is the greatest influence to your writing? Bombeck? Twain? Viorst?
Me: Yep.
Interviewer: Any insightful parenting tips?
Me: Uh, well, no.
Interviewer: Anything you’d like to add?
Me: Er, pink will never be the new black?
Interviewer: Um, thank you. Well, that’s all the time we have for today.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I called my friend Julie for some advice.
”I know just what you need to make you less nervous,” she said.
”What, an emergency Toast Masters meeting? Hypnotherapy?”
”No, silly. A new outfit.”
Which is exactly the sort of answer you can expect from someone with 18 pairs of white shoes.
But, hey, you have to admit that it’s sort of comforting to think that some new clothes would make all of the right words magically pop into my head, turning me into a glib and sophisticated parenting expert. That said, you can see why I had no time to actually practice for this interview since I had to go shopping.
And I’d like to say that on the day of my interview I looked into the camera and spouted pearls of parenting wisdom, but I didn’t. I managed to get out three whole coherent sentences. Two more than my old record.
But I did have a nice floral green skirt set in the same color as my shoes. On top of that, I got out of the afternoon carpool and validation for an hour of free parking.
You know, a person could really get used to the celebrity lifestyle.
