Because my real life has been dominated, as of late, by Big Issues (illness, death, obligation, friendship), I have been taking refuge in a calmer and definitely prettier time. Specifically, I've returned to the sitcom world of 1967.*I'm almost done with Season 2 of That Girl. Here was a woman who is clearly in her 30s, but everyone she meets agrees to join her in her fantasy and pretend she's a good 5 or 6 years younger. She has impossibly thick lashes and perfect signature hair. I know that they were both fake, but in sitcom world, they're real. Ann Marie had noticeable boobs and round hips, yet she kept getting modeling gigs! She often went weeks without income, yet she could afford a 1BR New York apartment (with exposed brick, no less!) and a wardrobe so expansive she never wore the same thing twice. Best of all, she ran everywhere … in heels!
She had adventures. She had a sense of humor. Everyone loved her. She enthusiastically believed that The Next Big Thing was right around the corner. Of course, she didn't have a sex life (too bad; Donald is growing on me as boyfriend material), but in the sitcom world of 1967, that would have made her a slut.
I hate returning to my real life. I have menstrual cramps. One of my new windows is broken and must be replaced. It's time for two of my cats to go to the vet, and oh, what a hassle that is. There's an important client meeting on Friday. I miss my best friend.
Why can't Ruthie and Jerry Baumann move out and leave ME the apartment across the hall from Ann? I bet I'd have a Sassoon/Twiggy signature haircut. Ann and I would go shopping together. Maybe I could be a girl reporter at Newsview magazine, where Donald and Jerry work! I'd be frustrated by all the "fluffy" pieces I'm stuck doing, but Ann would tell me to keep the faith -- someday I'll get to do real news!
Damn it all, there goes the alarm on my Lotus Notes. I guess it's time for this old gal to do some real, 2007 work.
*I know, I know. The real world of 1967 was filled with picketing and rioting and war and bigotry. That's why I want to go to Ann Marie's New York, which I realize never existed … but I wish it did!
