I’m finally sitting down to write another blog, after cleaning a Polly Pocket pool party out of the sink, ignoring the enormous pile of unfolded laundry on my sofa, and tripping over Jett’s “wise-crackin’” Spider-man in the middle of the entranceway. I had a minor heart palpitation when Spidey shouted “YEEEHAWWW! LET’S GO ARACHNOBATIC ON THAT BIG BAD!”
I am assuming that ARACHNOBATIC is a pre-school euphemism for ‘kick some ass,’ and THAT BIG BAD (tonight anyway) would be my mountain of laundry. Yeah, I always kick butt on my laundry….
I removed his batteries. Take that, little plastic man.
Speaking of butts, I’ve been wanting to get to this blog for a while now. Ever since I found myself standing in the Safeway checkout line a few days ago, in front of the tabloid rack, mesmerized by the headline “Celebrity Cellulite.” I always think “Who the heck buys these things?” But, obviously a greater number of folks than we realize, because they continue to occupy prime advert space, racked right there IN YOUR FACE at the checkout counter. An evil ploy to seduce us, and suck us into their shallow web.
First, I looked around to make sure no one was watching me.
Then I picked it up.
Now, let me explain. As I was grabbing the glossy gossip rag, I was also rapidly attempting to analyze what in the world I hoped to get out of this voyeuristic sneak-peek. Why couldn’t I stop myself? Then it dawned on me.
I am insecure and shallow. Secretly – well, not so secretly now, I guess. On some level, I thought that if I saw some pics of unattractive famous people, I could feel a little better about myself – the way I look in a swimsuit, or at 7:00 in the morning, for instance. I suppose I’m proud as well – eeesh, not an attractive quality – because I always considered myself more ‘lofty’ – a cut above – this type of fodder.
I scoured the index and leafed directly to the cellulite section, wasting no time.
I was actually sorry I looked. No big pay-off like I’d anticipated. Just a few pages of flabby fannies, dimpled derrières and blubbery butts – mostly on skinny people. All taken with gazillion times zoom lenses from some camouflaged hot-spot I would assume. Gadzooks. What a totally disgusting occupation. Could you imagine sneaking around, hiding in some bushes, under some bleachers, or pretending to be the Dickie Dee ice cream dude, just to get a picture? I mean, how mean-spirited does the world get, that we need to spy on celebs and expose their, well, humanness.
I’d like to point out that I am judging the guys taking these photos, while me, me, me flips the pages.
With that said, I think some better fashion choices could have been made.
Don’t these people know about swimsuit wraps or self tanner? And really, thong bikini bottoms just don’t work past the age of 12. Aren’t appropriate at 12. I digress….
“Is that Kate Moss?” I leapt back about a foot, startled by a husky voice.
Deep in thought, I hadn’t noticed someone get in line with their groceries behind me.
“Uh, I don’t know” I say. “Her head is kinda covered by a hat.”
“Yeah,” the woman laughs. “You can never tell with those things, you know?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty dumb” I say with a tone of disapproval, and swiftly stuff the magazine back on the rack, embarrassed.
“Miss … you don’t want that then?” the checkout clerk asks. “Uh, no, no I don’t.”
Thanks for pointing that out though. That I expressed interest.
Literally, not 5 minutes before I was feeling pretty good about myself. I’d actually stopped by to pick up some flowers for my elderly friend Gladys. The one I visit in the care home. If you haven’t read my previous blog on Gladys you can check it out here: When I’m Eighty Four
Gladys adores flowers, and I try to take her some on occasion because I love to see her smile – something she doesn’t do too often these days. I was on my way to pay her a ‘friendly visitor’ call when I got sidetracked by Satan/Hollywood/Vanity/Celebs with Cellulite – call it what you may.
I asked for the flowers to be wrapped, and then sheepishly headed to the car. I vowed to never open a tabloid again. A vow I broke yesterday when I saw that Celine Dion is pregnant again, this time with twins. Cool. I bet she’s gonna get some cellulite.
I really need to leave these thoughts at the checkout.
Anyway, off to see Gladys. I hope she likes orange tulips. They’re my personal favorite. So simple and beautiful.
I wonder what kind of flowers Kate Moss likes. Or what her favourite authors are, or what makes her laugh. The tabloids never tell you that.
Oh well, Kate may have a bit of cellulite, but it’s ‘celebrity cellulite’ and she is still skinnier than me.
“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”
Next: Not A Cakewalk…