Tuesday, October 29, 2013

A model citizen

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been discovered! *Jazz Hands!!! I went to Maurices today to exchange some clothes that I had ordered online in the wrong size. I have recently lost weight and as a result took a wild guess at my new size when I ordered clothes. I was wrong from top to bottom pretty much everywhere. Anyway, I took the clothes back to the actual store so I could try on the clothes before buying them, which oddly enough, worked out for me. For anyone who doesn't know, Maurices is a womens clothing store with sizes, I believe, 0-26. It's fabulous. So, I'm in there shopping and I start talking to this lady who I later find out is spearheading their charity for The American Cancer Society. They are doing a fashion show in town, and she asked me to be in it! Look at me! I am a runway model! Okay, they have a little handwritten sign by the cash register that says “If you are interested in helping The American Cancer Society ask today about volunteer opportunities” BUT they did not hide the sign from me as I walked in the door AND she asked me. It really wouldn't have occurred to me to ask her about it at all. So, I'm taking the fact that they didn't deny having anything to do with fashion if it concerned me as a total ego boost! I modeled some stretchy clothing once when I was younger. I can't remember what the product was called, but everything was made out out of T-shirt material; shirts with different collar lines, skirts, pants, shorts, culottes, etc... and they were all solid colors made out of the bright colors that forever marked the 80's. I believe the general idea was you could wear a long purple shirt with a short orange skirt over blue leggings with yellow wristbands and look totally rad. You were supposed to get a bunch of each type of clothing in all different colors and have multiple ways of assaulting the public in a mix and match manner. That and an interview and a screen test which involved speaking (which I bombed because I dread it like I dread spiders and the plague) with some agency was the sum total of my modeling career. However, I feel that I have reinvented myself and I am going to come back stronger than ever and start a revolution, bringing large butts and tiny busts into fashion because I am just that cool. I am a little worried though. When I went in tonight, I went in on the tail end of this stomach flu I've been dealing with. I haven't washed my hair in three days, I was wearing no makeup and I have on the right side of my chin my monthly “I'm on my period” pimple that comes up and gets all red and swollen and hard and then dies back down. It's like I come equipped with my own personal stop light. You know when you see the bright red light on my face (and it is always in the same spot), to stop and look both ways before crossing me. I also think I was faintly sweaty as I had put on a sweater on the one day that it stopped being the temperature of Greenland outside. I'm just wondering if they asked me to volunteer, who did they have signing up? I will never put down another woman for personal appearance (unless I think you need to have put more clothes on before leaving the house, like the bottom half of your shorts or the top half of your shirt), because lord knows us girls have it bad enough with media, society and men criticizing us and trying to make us unhealthy. No, I'm not saying I think the other women must look really bad, I'm simply wondering if they actually had any volunteers that were human because let's just say I was not putting my species in the best light this afternoon. I have a bad feeling there is going to be me, a hydra, an articulate baboon with a swollen red butt and a super thin but attractive extra terrestrial. Also, I walk with a cane. I have yet to find a medical cane that I can make look sexy, but I'll give it a shot. I figure I'll go out there and have fun and have the fun of knowing that I'm a overweight 34 year old mother of three kids who was asked to be a model for one day. So on the tenth of November, please ask me what my plans are. You can even ask it in a way that implies you have something you want me to do with you socially. Because I'm dying to tell someone that I simply can't work it in and why. “Theresa, can you come hang out with me in LA this afternoon, Justin Timberlake is just dying to meet you.” And I will say with a careless wave, “Darling, I simply can't, I'm due on the runway this evening. Give him my love, ciao!”

Also, today Google+ informed me I have earned my own URL and they have reserved one for me. They gave me the address and everything. I have the feeling this is good, but I don't know what a URL is or what I would do with one if I got hold of it. I'll poke it and see what it does.

No comments:

Post a Comment