The Woman Who Is Always Tan and Has a Flat Stomach Read online

  “We have a few cats.”

  “I’ve always had dogs. They’re just so happy! Their names are Buster and Duster, isn’t that cute?”

  “Oh, yeah, very cute.”

  “I’ve never understood cats. They seem so… so…” Her voice trailed off.

  “So aloof, unapproachable, and detached?”

  She just giggled. “Once, when Duster was little, he found a can I had thrown in the garbage, and he got it stuck on his nose! It was so adorable. And another time, the TV remote was on the recliner, and Buster jumped up and sat with his paw on top of the remote, as if he were going to change the channel. Can you believe it?” She quivered with joy.

  “Wow.”

  “Golly, I might have some pictures of them in my purse.” She started digging for the photos, while discussing her favorite recipe for chocolate chip cookies and her favorite pop star.

  “Golly, Lauren, do you have the latest Jessica Simpson CD?” she asked.

  “No, I somehow missed that one.”

  “Gee whiz, Lauren is such a pretty name; I just love names that start with ‘L,’ ” she said brightly.

  I thought about drowning myself, but there were too many lifeguards.

  “Golly, I thought I had Buster and Duster’s photos with me, but I guess not. Oh, well!” she said.

  I had a momentary ray of hope that the conversation would expand a bit when she described her family’s vacation cycling across Colorado, but then she ruined it by going into a long monologue about her bicycle outfits.

  “Golly, I don’t know why it’s so hard to find all-pink bicycling outfits. Do you have any idea where I could find some?”

  “I’m not the best person to ask.”

  “Gee whiz, why not?”

  “Don’t you remember, Dee Dee? My favorite color is black.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot!” she giggled, seemingly embarrassed that she had already forgotten my favorite color.

  I asked her if she had had a career before Gigi was born. “Golly, I used to be an aerobics instructor.” I thought she might break out into a Jazzercise routine to the tune of “My Favorite Things,” but she just giggled and bounced off to the snack bar to get a round of ice-cream cones with sprinkles on top.

  A little later, while I was expending some energy of my own by rolling onto my stomach to tan my back, Dee Dee said, “Golly, I guess I’ll swim a few laps before we leave. Would you like to join me, Lauren?”

  “No, no, you go ahead,” I said. “I hate to get wet.”

  She just giggled.

  All this happy energy was sucking the life right out of me.

  That evening I asked Michael, “Have you ever met Gigi’s perky mom? When she talks, she says ‘golly’ every other word. Really annoying.”

  He replied that yes, he had met Dee Dee at the pool and thought the “golly” thing was charming.

  “You can’t tell me that old wide-eyed blond allure is still valid with men?” I snapped.

  “Definitely,” he retorted.

  Galling as it seems, tonight in bed I am going to start saying “golly” to Michael as often as possible. Let’s see how alluring it is when I say it.

  7

  The Couple Who Write the Holiday Letter Telling You How Their Little Timmy Came Up with an Alternative to Fossil Fuels

  The first example of an annoying holiday letter was written by a couple we know:

  Holiday greetings from the Levinson family!

  Last year our Ryan finished his college degree, and he’s only seven years old. He’s planning to graduate medical school and become a brain surgeon by the time he’s eleven.

  Our daughter, twelve-year-old Rachel Mary-Alice, decided to try out for the diving team at her school. Her coach was so impressed that she immediately signed Rachel Mary-Alice up for the Olympic competitions, and to everyone’s shock, she won the gold medal.

  Last year our little Timmy (he’s nine) developed a cheap, easy alternative to fossil fuels. So far, he has banked about $7 billion from this new way for society to use energy. We are so proud.

  And also this last year, our Meagan gave her first solo a cappella performance at Carnegie Hall. She somehow manages to balance voice practice with her nuclear physics coursework at Columbia! Last fall, as you may have seen on television, she was named Miss Universe.

  Here’s to a New Year full of new achievements!

  The second example of an annoying holiday letter came from another couple:

  Dear friends and family,

  We spent January in Australia, navigating our boat in the World Cup, and we won.

  In February, while still in Australia, our friend Nicole Kidman asked us over for lunch; she wanted our opinion on what dress to wear to the Academy Awards.

  In March, we flew to Paris after being asked to teach an afternoon cooking class with the world-renowned chef Pierre DuBois. While we were there, the French Prime Minister found out we were in town and invited us to spend the weekend.

  Afterward, we decided to spend a few nights at the Ritz. The food was exquisite. We had iced poached shrimp in the shell with pink chaud-froid, consommé brunoise, crown roast of lamb with tangerine-rice dressing cockaigne, cold green beans a la grecque, and fresh fruit with sabayon sauce for dessert.

  A highlight of our stay at the Ritz was the visit of Mohamed Al-Fayed, who stopped by and begged us to stay with him at the French chateau Dodi had bought for Diana. He showed us a number of photos of Diana and Dodi’s last few weeks together. These candid shots have never been released to the public. Too bad you’ll never get to see them—Diana looked fabulous.

  In May, Princess Caroline of Monaco asked us to come and spend the month with her. Monaco is so delightful in May. We drove along the Corniche to Cannes and took in some of the film festival as well. After the screening, we had an aperitif with Annette Bening and Warren Beatty at a waterfront café.

  In June, we took a private yacht tour through several Norwegian fjords and in July, we attended the fiesta in Pamplona, Spain (made famous by Ernest Hemingway).

  During August, we spent much of our time at our estate on Martha’s Vineyard. The Trumps begged us to use their yacht as ours was being redecorated with the new Italian marble we had purchased on the way home from Spain.

  We spent autumn at our home in the Hamptons. We had our decorations for Christmas put up early since Architectural Digest, Veranda, and Town and Country wanted to shoot photos of our house for their December magazine issues.

  Our Christmas, of course, is usually spent with Diane Sawyer and Mike Nichols. Mike always asks us to read upcoming scripts for him to get our opinion on which movies he should do. While we find this to be a bit tedious, we are happy to help him out.

  Here’s hoping that your lives are not too boring!

  The holiday letters my husband and I send out, sadly, are at the opposite end of the spectrum:

  Holiday greetings from the Perrys!

  On January 27, we swept the garage floor. There were two dustpans full of dirt, although the second dustpan was only about three-quarters full. We debated whether to use the hose to wash the garage out, but decided against this since the temperature was below freezing.

  On February 5, we were thrilled to get a personal call from AT&T wanting us to switch over from MCI. We told them we’d think about it.

  We spent the month of March figuring out how many frequent-flier miles we have. We finally determined that we were eligible for a two-for-one coupon for drinks, provided we pay full coach fare.

  On April 7, we replaced the light bulb in the family room. It hadn’t been replaced since we moved here in 1990.

  On May 4, we realized we hadn’t emptied the lint in our dryer since we moved here either.

  On June 17, we spent the day trying to adjust the color on the television. It was difficult to get it “just right.”

  On July 7, we bought a new dryer.

  On August 15, we went out to eat at Applebee’s. We had cheese sticks as an a
ppetizer, and then Michael had the teriyaki chicken salad and Lauren had the chicken fajitas. The lettuce in Michael’s salad was on the verge of wilting, but still okay to eat. They brought a dessert tray out, but the carrot cake didn’t look like it had enough frosting on it and the chocolate pudding with Cool Whip looked rather dry. The apple dumplings were a possibility, but since they weren’t willing to warm them up, we decided against dessert.

  On September 3, we ordered new checks. Since we live in Colorado, we decided to order ones with mountains in the background. The writing on the checks is done in calligraphy, and the “P” in Perry is larger than all the other letters.

  On October 22, Lauren cleaned out her car. In it she found her glasses, fourteen Milk Duds, five unopened prescription medications, and twenty-eight coffee mugs.

  On November 24, we discussed buying mint-flavored floss.

  On December 3, AT&T called back, wondering what we wanted to do. Since we hate feeling pressured, we told them we’d stay with MCI.

  That’s it for our year! Here’s to another great year!

  8

  The Husband Who Buys a New Video Camera and Now Believes He’s Martin Scorsese

  Last year over the holidays I decided I had spent one too many Christmases with my husband and his video camera. I said to him, “Look, you’re going to have to let go a little bit around this video camera. My family has threatened not to visit for Christmas this year if we have a repeat of last year.”

  He said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe you missed your calling, but sitting around in that director’s chair with that baseball cap on and barking orders into a megaphone to what you call the crew—in other words, Uncle Alex and Aunt Mildred—is not what Christmas is all about.”

  “I can’t help it if they know nothing about film production.”

  “Honey, it’s just a family Christmas.”

  “To you maybe. To me, it’s a short film documentary on ‘Serious Interpretation of Holiday Celebration Customs in American Suburban Life at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century.’ ”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” I said. “You’re losing it.”

  “I am not.”

  “You don’t think referring to me as the ‘lighting production manager’ just because I turned on the lights in the family room is going a bit far?”

  “No,” he said defensively.

  “You throw around phrases like ‘it’s a wrap’ and ‘roll it’ as if you were making the sequel to Gone With the Wind.”

  “Not true.”

  “And referring to the cat as an ‘extra’ is confusing to him. For that matter, it’s confusing to all of us. And if you think no one has noticed you’re using my makeup pencil to make your eyebrows look more like Martin Scorsese’s, you’re wrong. And why are you wearing those thick black glasses? You don’t even need glasses.”

  “They make me look more distinguished.”

  “They make you run into things.”

  I recognized these early signs in my husband because of my experience with my brother. My brother is the original video dad, which means his entire life since 1979 when the first luggable thirty-pound personal-use video camera became available for four thousand dollars. I stopped going on vacations with his family because I didn’t want to carry “my share” of the video equipment around amusement parks or have myself on video trying to get up on water skis. Nor did I want to watch these episodes where every tape had him laughing in the background.

  Christmas morning at his house went something like this: “Lauren!” (this shouted). “Pretend to open that sweater again and hold it up. I was taping Alex opening his train set. Come on! Hurry up! Mom’s opening her big present next. Hurry!”

  How fun.

  And then when my husband bought a video camera, the two of them were inseparable. They were both big fans of TV in the sixties and seventies, which meant that for years we had to replicate Christmas from their favorite shows. The Gilligan’s Island holiday was actually kind of fun with the boat theme and all. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law landed the part of Ginger, while I ended up as Mrs. Howell. And then another year while we were all dividing up the parts for a Brady Bunch Christmas, I went to the bathroom, came back, and found that she had taken the part of Carol Brady and I was left playing Alice. And during the Dick Van Dyke Show holiday, she got to be Laura Petrie and I had to play Millie. It seemed to be a trend.

  Before the holidays this past year, I said to Michael, “This year, I think we should not do the theme thing. Let’s just have a normal holiday.”

  “But honey,” Michael replied. “Your brother and I have it all planned. We’re doing a Cheers holidays celebration this year.”

  I said cautiously, “An old Cheers or a newer Cheers?”

  “A newer Cheers.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I get to play Kirstie Alley’s part.”

  “Sorry, hon,” he said. “That part is already taken. You can be either Carla or Cliff.”

  “Fine,” I shouted, “I’ll be Cliff.”

  A cross-dressing role should really be a boost to my acting career.

  9

  The Perfect Soccer Mom Who Knows All the International Rules of Soccer

  Unfortunately, Caroline’s soccer organization requires parents to volunteer as part of the whole soccer experience. And since I forgot to check the volunteer sign-up sheet early enough online, all the good volunteer positions were already taken, such as buying a whistle for the coach, or making a one-time orange juice drop-off. Disappointingly, all that was left was the position of assistant coach.

  “But I don’t know anything about soccer,” I whined to the volunteer coordinator.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll be coaching with Karen, and she attended UCLA on a soccer scholarship.”

  The day of our first game was bright and sunny, unfortunately. I’d secretly hoped we’d get rained out. The phone rang early that morning and it was Karen. “Lauren, you’ll have to go on without me. I have a 103-degree temperature and have been sick all night. The referee that will be there today seems very stern, but don’t let him scare you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  How hard could it be?

  The beginning of the game went well. No goals, but everyone played well. In the second half, I was busy talking with another mom when the referee’s whistle caught my attention. He called a foul on one of my girls.

  “Wait, what’s going on?” I hollered at the referee. “What did she do?”

  “She was offside,” he shouted.

  I ran out on the field. “What do you mean she was offside?”

  He said, “She was nearer to her opponents’ goal line than both the ball and the second-last opponent.”

  “What do you mean, ‘second-last opponent’? Does that have anything to do with birth order? I know birth order is important, but I don’t really know what it has to do with soccer.”

  He looked confused.

  “Plus,” I continued. “You said Amanda was offside and she’s an only child. So I think you are mistaken about this whole thing.”

  “Look,” he said impatiently. “Being offside doesn’t have anything to do with birth order. Let me explain it to you. A player is not offside if she is level with the second-last opponent or she is level with the last two opponents.”

  I was silent for a minute. “So if Amanda were level with the second-last opponent or with the last two opponents, she wouldn’t be offside?” I asked.

  He nodded, looking relieved.

  I said, “But Amanda is taller than Rachel, but shorter than Kelsie. So I don’t know how she could be level with them.”

  He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  “Girls, come over here and show the referee how tall you are.” I had the girls line up in descending order.

  “Really, ma’am, trust me, she was offside.”

  One of my girls said, “Really, Mrs. Perry, she was offside.”
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br />   “Well, if you think so…” My voice trailed off and I walked back to my lawn chair.

  As I was continuing my conversation with the other mom, that irritating whistle blew again.

  He yelled, “Throw-in penalty.”

  I ran over to him again and asked, “What did you say is wrong now?”

  “It’s a throw-in penalty.”

  “How can that be? Throwing in is throwing in. She threw the ball in.” I didn’t understand.

  “What happened to the coach who played at UCLA?”

  “She’s sick. I’m the assistant coach.”

  He swore softly to himself.

  Then he said irritatingly, “The ball must be thrown from behind and over her head.”

  “But it’s the second half and all the girls are tired,” I said. “No one could be expected to raise their arms all the way over their head while holding a ball. It’s asking too much.”

  “That’s the rule.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Who would ever come up with a picky rule like that?”

  He replied curtly, “The International Soccer Association.”

  Obviously, it was a sore subject, so I went back to my lawn chair.

  The next time the whistle blew, I automatically began to rise from my chair.

  “Stay where you are,” he yelled. “It’s a rule. Trust me. I’ve been a referee for twenty years.” I sat back down and there was a collective sigh of relief from my players. Miraculously, we won the game.

  Karen, the other coach, called the next day and congratulated me on the win. I confided, “You know, I’m not sure if these referees know what they’re doing.”

  Karen laughed and said, “From what I heard, it sounds like you were really on top of things and didn’t let anything get by. I’m sure that referee never had anyone question him on anything before.”

  “Oh, well, thanks. I’ll see you at practice.”

  I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. As I went off to take a nap, I wondered if I was too old for a soccer scholarship to UCLA. After all, I know all those ridiculously elaborate rules now. That has to be the hardest part.