Today I took some time and effort into my look because there was a VIP grand opening I was invited to.
Rumor has it the latest round of Bravo’s Real Housewives would be there, so I packed my trusty handi-cam, put on a cute outfit and heels and took off for work.
Work slowly passed by, and we all talked about the biggest rumor to hit the city in quite a while. Before long it was quitting time, so I hit the shop to pick my newly repaired car and head up to the big event.
Once I got there I politely asked the public relations representative in charge if I could shoot some video, to clear the path just in case the RH showed up.
She agreed, so I headed inside and got to work. It wasn’t too long before I started running into people I know, most of them through work. Then I saw one of my former interns from my news days who now works in PR.
She was with a friend and before I knew it we were all talking and hanging out. Then a photographer for the local newspaper came by taking pictures.
We took a group photo, and then she asked if she could take solo photos of myself and one of the other girls for the style section.
Nice! I’ll take that… the style section is not a bad place to land.
She took the other girls picture first. She immediately struck a pose looking like she’d spent years modeling. She insisted she’d never done this before, but you never would have known it she was a pro!
After her picture I listened in as the photographer asked for her name, age, and where the clothes came from. Uh… age?! Crap!!
Now it was my turn. I put down my glass of wine (in hindsight I probably should have chugged it) and went to my spot saying to the photographer ‘I’ve never done this before’ hoping she would guide me a bit.
That backfired, because miss model perfect before me said the same thing and she knocked it out of the park… double crap!
She took one picture, then asked me to put my hand on my hip so she could take another. That must have done the trick, that, or she didn’t want to deal with me anymore.
Then it was my turn for interrogation, name… age… uh… gulp… my mind was racing…. do I lie? or tell the truth? Since I’m an awful liar I decided the truth was the only option.
I mustered the courage to mutter ’39’…. a full decade older than my predecessor. The reality of it being published for the entire city to see sunk in, there was no denying it now.
From the opening we went up to a different bar to grab something to eat. The more I thought about it, the happier I became about the style section photo.
There are worse ways to round out my 30’s. Maybe I am ready for 40 after all??