Cruising down La Cienega Blvd. past the paparazzi hotspot with your head hung out the window of your pink Mini Cooper like a dog gulping the night air in an effort not to vomit = not dignified.
But!
Vomiting all over yourself in the car = not dignified.
So two wrongs DO make a right. Viva la stomach flu!*
Yesterday's post and the comments on it just reminded me of a story. Back in 2001, I lived in a Huge Apartment Complex. If you live in LA, you know of what I speak: all the apartments look exactly the same: two bedrooms with their own bathrooms separated by a living room and a galley kitchen. I lived there with Peanut, the three legged pit bull, and every morning before I'd head over to Ren-Mar I'd leash her up and take her for a walk.
My building was no ordinary building, however, it was known as the "Stripper Building" as it was right around the corner from a bunch of Sunset Strip Clubs and a good portion of the strippers - or former strippers - chose to live there. (We also had a couple of Working Girls, but they informed me in no uncertain terms did they strip.)
My morning outing with Peanut (in which I was clad in pajama bottoms and a tank top or oversized t-shirt) would coincide from the girls getting home form work. They'd always oooh and ahhh over my cute three-legged dog and then give me a look like I was something to be found under a hobo's shoe. It was a familiar routine that I looked forward to every morning.
Until one evening I had gotten home late from work and was taking Peanut out in my work clothes - fully made up, skirts-and-boots-and-little-t-shirt and I ran across the same girls leaving for their evening shift. They ooohed and aaahed over Peanut and then said to me
She's so cute! We see her with your dogwalker every day!
I didn't have the heart to tell them.
*On second thought, no viva the stomach flu.
