Last night, S.G, her friend K (or is it C.? See? This whole 'initials' thing is driving me crazy) and I went to see "Julie and Julia." I had originally resisted this movie because the whole "I'm going to write a blog for the sole purpose of getting famous!" thing is kind of annoying to me. (As opposed to me, who's writing a blog for the sole purpose of enlightening the masses about every nuance, shade and variation of my ass bruises, which is clearly a public service). True to expectation, I loved the Julia Child storyline and pretty much despised the "whiny blogger" storyline; (if you're thinking the "whiny blogger" storyline might have hit a little too close to home, you're probably right, except that Julie had a husband and a job and a New-York lifestyle, which is slightly more glamorous than my New Westminster lifestyle, though granted she also appears to have a sort of mullet). When Julia Child hates Julie Powell's blog, I liked Julia Child even more, since Julia Child wrote a cookbook because she had a passion for cooking and Julie Powell wrote a blog as a quick way to become a writer without any of that "knowing how to write" business. (Okay, rant over).
I realized very quickly, however, that Julia Child is my perfect role model. She's very tall and she is not afraid to wear high heels, which I would totally do if high heels didn't cause me to roll my ankles! She has crazy hair that she does not tame, though her lack of taming is because of conviction and mine is because of laziness! She has a loud voice and will not pipe down; me neither! She is not afraid to date men who are shorter than her; I, in fact, prefer it that way, though the men do not necessarily agree! In fact, I think that I will go as Julia Child for Hallowe'en and scrap my original plan to go as a zombie, since Hallowe'en would be the one time of the year when my unusual gait would fit right in. (Well, Hallowe'en or a Polio Survivor's Convention).
After the movie, S.G, K/C and I realized that our dinners had been pathetic (S and I had eaten popcorn for dinner) and we cruised Vancouver for fancy desserts, which we found (hurrah!) and which were fantastic. I must admit that Vancouver thoroughly kicks the ass of Champaign-Urbana in the food department (frozen yogurt excepted). It was a fun night!
I rode the SkyTrain to the movie theatre and, as I got off at my stop, I thought, "Gee, could it be that I will get through an encounter on public transit without any weirdness? Someone has not hit on me in a completely inappropriate way, told me their life story while sobbing or asked me some wildly bizarre question." Well, I should have knocked on wood because, sure enough, just as I was going down the escalator of the New Westminster Skytrain station ( a few feet from freedom!), I was subjected to this encounter:
African man: You are a very beautiful lady!
African man: Very beautiful! Very tall! You are very tall and beautiful.
African man: You are so tall and beautiful I think I should have your phone number and we should get together.
Me: I have a boyfriend.
African man's friend: That's ok! He has three wives!
African man: Well, I hope I do not insult you by telling you that you are so beautiful. Does your boyfriend mind that you have a bad leg?
Me: No, he doesn't care. He likes me the way I am.
African man: That is good! That is good! Have a good night, beautiful lady!
Well, I guess that's not so much weird as kind of flattering. (I'll take compliments in whatever form they arrive in). I mean, "you're beautiful" beats the hell out of "hey, sweetheart. What's wrong with your legs? Want me to teach you how to spread them?" I always feel a little bad, however, about inventing a boyfriend, though I feel like it's the nicest thing to do. And it's not really lying to say that I have a boyfriend. I am a great believer in the "branching universe" theory that posits that, when someone makes a decision, all other outcomes happen simultaneously in alternate worlds. So, yes, somewhere in the universe, there are probably multiple Arleys with multiple boyfriends/husbands/lovers (these multiple Arleys should quit hogging all the men!) and probably a few of those partners do not care that I have a bad leg. It's not lying, it's quantum physics!