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Broke Wife, Big City
Catwoman loves
my hair
By Aprill Brandon
You know that old saying, “This is why we can’t have nice things”?
Well, my husband and I are the poster children for the phrase “This is
why we can’t do nice things.”
We are, to put it nicely, casual people. We’re the Gap of couples. The
Olive Garden of lovers. The Netflix of man and wife.
Not that there’s anything wrong with this. In fact, we prefer it this
way. There is no shame in our footie pajama Saturday night game. But it
does make for several rather interesting “fish out of water” tales from
time to time.
For instance, take our recent trip to New York City. See, even typing
that previous sentence felt weird. We’re not the kind of people who say
“our recent trip to New York City.” We’re the kind of people who say
“our recent trip to Target.”
My husband, however, causal though he is, happens to be a very talented
artist and designer. On a lark, he had entered into a poster contest
for the new FOX show “Gotham” and ended up winning, scoring us a free
mini-vacation and tickets to the New York premiere of the show.
And it was going to be fancy. Not fancy-fancy, but fancy enough that
Ryan had to borrow a suit and I spent hours scouring my closet, trying
on different things and asking him things like “would it be
inappropriate to wear a dress to the premiere that has a curse word on
it?” Not to mention the fancy driver who was going to pick us up from
the airport in his fancy car and the fancy Manhattan hotel with its
fancy shower that didn’t have any major clogs (like SOME showers I
know) we would be staying in.
All this for two people who don’t know how to tip a doorman or a driver
without looking like huge dorks. (In fact, my husband’s preferred
method is to just loudly state “Here” while awkwardly stuffing a
fistful of cash into their unsuspecting hands).
Luckily, we clean up pretty good when absolutely forced to, so we made
it to the “Gotham” premiere without embarrassing ourselves too
horribly. I even made it up the five flights of stairs to the
post-premiere party in five-inch heels without stopping halfway through
(just lying breathless on a step, telling people to “just leave me
here, go on without me, remember me when I’m gone”) like I really,
REALLY wanted to.
Now, as far as I can tell, the main goal of a movie or TV premiere
party is to skulk around the room until you weasel your way close
enough to one of the stars to ask them to take a photo with you.
Unfortunately, Ryan and I are those people who like to think we’re
above having our photos taken with celebrities. That’s what we tell
ourselves, at least. Yeah, we’re way too cool for that. What with our
own personal websites and curse word dresses and all. They’re just
people, people. How lame.
In reality, however, we are totally those people who want our photos
taken with celebrities. We’re just too scared to ever actually ask. So
instead we just awkwardly stood around, drinking our fancy drinks that
we awkwardly grabbed off some waiter’s tray and awkwardly sipped while
trying not to cough because it was a grown-up drink and we’re used to
“cocktails” that have pop as one of the main two ingredients.
Even the liquid courage from our fancy, grown-up drinks didn’t help. It
did, however, help us come up with an ingenious idea. One that we call
“reverse photobombing.” We sat at a table, camera phones at the ready,
and when a celebrity (or pretty much anyone with really, REALLY
straight teeth) walked into the background, we would take a photo.
Needless to say, we were quite proud of our cleverness.
And drunk. We were very, very drunk.
But then, while my husband and I are snapping photos and giggling like
a bunch of third-graders who just stumbled upon a stack of nudie
magazines, suddenly the young actress who plays Selina Kyle sits down
at our tiny table. She’s close enough for us to touch her. Close enough
for us to touch her in such a way that we could get slapped with a
restraining order. We immediately both give each other “The Look.” The
look that only couples who have been together long enough to know each
other’s bathroom schedule can give one another. Here was our chance.
He looked at me and with one raised eyebrow silently said “Should we
ask her to pose for a photo?”
To which I looked at him and with two raised eyebrows (because I can’t
raise just one because it’s a stupid skill I can’t master no matter how
much I practice in front of the mirror) silently answered “Nope. I’m
still too much of a pansy.”
I did, however, work up the nerve (after downing yet another drink) to
say, directly into her face, “You were wonderful in the show.”
And then, dear reader, and then, she looked at me, and directly into MY
face said, “Thank you so much. I love your hair.”
Naturally, being the mature and sophisticated 30-something woman that I
am, I calmly yanked my husband’s arm out of its socket and said
“CATWOMAN LOVES MY HAIR!”
To which he lovingly replied, “You’re not being nearly as quiet as you
think you are being right now.”
And so, the moral of this long, rambling, semi-pointless story is this:
Catwoman loves my hair. And that’s pretty much all that matters.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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