The dinner conversation turned to the well-worn topic of high school trauma.
The scene was the usual bunch of fashion people at one of the usual fashion restaurants after more than the usual amount of Proseco on one unusually hot Summer night during Milan Men’s Fashion Week somewhere in the Nineties.
We were all trying to outdo one another with sordid stories of tragic teenage angst and degradation; and I have to admit that I wasn’t doing too horribly in the competition, even though just about everyone in this rather large group had some rather horrible tales to tell.
It all ended abruptly when the gorgeous Amy Spindler of the New York Times, who was uncharacteristically silent up to this point in the boo-hoo loser-fest, exclaimed, “HIGH SCHOOL? I FUCKING LOVED HIGH SCHOOL! I HAD THE BEST TIME! I WAS VOTED MOST POPULAR! I WAS FUCKING HOMECOMING QUEEN! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” She called us all out, and her delivery was pure Lola Heatherton.
We were schooled.
Yesterday at work, nobody ate the dessert. In my opinion, the catered lunch was substandard; but the blueberry tart was a beauty, like something baked by grandma or a prize winner at the fair. When I left the studio, it was untouched.
Why do we leave out the good parts?
I’ve been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately, which I was blaming on the “thinness” of “The Veil.” Maybe that’s why my thoughts turned to Amy on this particular morning. I had a vision of her laughing at my threadbare boxer shorts and ripped t shirt that I had slept in last night, and I heard her telling me that I had to snap out of it. Go to the gym. Go outside. Do something.
Life’s too short, although I know Amy would not approve of the corniness of that statement. I’m not sure it’s my point either.
I am sure, however, that Amy is still homecoming queen wherever she is right now.
#TrueConfessions by #BillMullen