By Jenny Klion
According to the hilarious Chris Rock, I supposedly fall into the “single and lonely” marital-status category. And thus, once upon a lonesome night, I tumbled under the spell of pseudo-reality TV. Eventually sucked into the likes of “The Apprentice,” by the time hunky Bill captured his prize, I too felt compelled to embark upon my own quest for some kind of reality fixings. In fact — and don’t laugh now — I’m currently in the final cut for a styling makeover, via one of the numerous magazine publications at my employment headquarters, henceforth referred to as Vigor.
It all started when I spotted an understated red-and-white flyer posted around my office building, wherein I was instantly drawn to and amused by its message: “Vigor magazine is looking to pamper women who are constantly giving to others…. If this describes you…then we’d like to give back…by making your…fashion dream a reality.” My wheels immediately started turning, and hot off the press from my last column, “My own personal fashion week…,” I felt duty-bound to seize this ironic and timely opportunity to (frankly) accumulate some free clothes, and a possible column to boot! I subsequently snatched the bulletin from its spot on the wall and ran back to my work area, determined to convince Vigor magazine that I was worthy of this kind of pampering. However, it wasn’t long before the reality-inspired makeover event slipped my mind, and I misplaced the flyer amid the authenticity of the endless proofreading that comes across my desk daily.
Long story short, after finding and running off with another circular, I spent two weeks composing my Vigor magazine fashion wish, following the application instructions to a tee. I stuck an amusing photograph of myself on mini-stilts into an envelope, and mailed the whole shebang off to the abyss on the 20th floor that is Vigor.
Several weeks later, I received a call from the magazine’s Misty, whom I for some reason imagined as blonde-bobbed. She acknowledged receipt of my letter, but wanted to know if I did any volunteer work at all. Somewhat at a loss for any proven social and/or political unselfishness on my part, I did manage to pull a charitable moment or two out of my hat, and after Misty and I shared a few forced giggles, she then promised to keep me informed about the magazine’s decision either way.
The next day, though, I received another phone call from Misty, and this time, it seems her editor wanted to see more pictures of me. “Hmmm,” I replied, told her I didn’t have a digi-cam, and said I’d see what I could come up with by the next day. Secretly rushing home to scour through old photos, I realized my collection was chock full of pictures of Judy — with and without her dad — and again, my “single and lonely” status reared its inevitable head. Eeking out one passable headshot and another quirky full-length photo of Judy and myself, I happily marched them up to the Vigor offices. But when I later called to confirm Misty’s receipt of the prints, she couldn’t get off the phone fast enough, and suddenly that blonde didn’t seem so bubbly anymore.
Damn. Were Vigor and Misty dissing me on account of my looks, as I’d recently done to an online dating candidate myself? Was this merely karma in action, or am I just too “real” for public viewing?!
Eventually I did receive a third bouncy call from Misty, who cheerfully congratulated me on becoming a pampering finalist after all, but wanted to know if she could have just one more photo of me. (I’m not that interesting to look at for God’s sake!) But a dinner, a few beers and 36 35-mm shots later (with the help of my friend Vivian), I finally met Misty on the 20th floor, with a presentable portrait gripped in my sweaty paw. She did have a blonde bob by the way, and seemed far more interested in the photo itself than my tangible live presence, but until further notice, I guess I’m still in the running to join reality in the making….
