That Woman

So today, I became That Woman. You've seen her, so don't pretend you haven't. Next time, give her a hug and whisper some sweet words of reassurance. Better yet, take her by the elbow and steer her to the nearest bar.

I was a middle-aged blonde who couldn't remember where she parked her station wagon.

Today, of course, because this is MY life, I was also the middle-aged blonde who couldn't remember where she parked her station wagon WHILE WEARING FAKE EYELASHES.

You want to be a middle-aged blonde wearing fake eyelashes if you're in a rocking gay bar in WeHo. If you've just hooked up with some decades-younger friends and you're showing them How It's Done. You do not ever--EVER--want to be the middle-aged blonde in fake eyelashes wandering the West Hills parking lot somewhere between SuperStore and Winners in search of a blue Subaru with a Thule on top. While carrying a shopping bag full of Cadbury Creme Eggs.

Christian tradition holds that today, Easter Saturday, was a Very Bad Day for Jesus, what with the going down to hell thing and being dead and all. Dude: I can totally sympathize.

Maybe this Riesling will put out the flames I imagine are being warmed up for me right this very instant.