Stephanie Lessing

I
find it disturbing that someone called our President the devil, and what’s
worse is that it was said with absolute certainty. I mean, how can you prove something like that?

So
I’m walking Mikki, my yellow lab, like I always do, in the woods, with my
friend, the cop, who has a Bagel, which is a combination of a beagle and basset
hound and along comes this woman. She’s tall and blonde and apparently she
appeared to be carrying food, because Mikki ran right up to her and jumped on
her, with muddy paws, and the woman was pissed.

So
I ran over to her and said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Look at your pants.” I
say that same thing every time Mikki jumps on someone. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Look at your pants.” I say those words so often, sometimes I just
say them to myself, in my head, for no
reason.

And
then the person usually says, “Don’t worry. These are old pants.” And that’s
the end of it. Because after all, we’re
in the woods, a place that is known for harboring all sorts of dirt.

“Zis
is unacceptable!” the woman said– in the same accent Hitler always liked to
use.

“Huh?”
I said.

“Zis
is unacceptable! I vill not tolerate
zis!” she said.

“God,
what a bitch,” I whispered to my friend –the cop. He was

understandably
maintaining a safe distance from both of us. Not only was she clearly a nut but there’s a huge sign at the entrance
to the nature center that says, “NO UNLEASHED DOGS!” along with a list of fines
for all sorts of crimes one might commit against nature, such as letting an
animal run free or eating. My friend
the cop and I break the law together every day and we were about to get busted.

“Do
you have any idea how dangerous zis is? Look at my pants!” she said. I’m so used to saying that last line, I was
stunned. Meanwhile, my dog was still
jumping all over her and I made no attempt to get her to stop. I have no idea how to stop a dog from
jumping. I usually just wait for her to
get sick of whomever she’s jumping on. I’ve always been more of a laissez-faire disciplinarian. I feel horrible telling animals (as well as
children) that they’ve done something wrong, so I tend to pretend I don’t
notice. This has proven to be a very
effective means of raising my daughter. My son is only thirteen so I’m not sure how he’s going to turn out
yet. Fingers crossed. As far as the dog, everything had been
working out beautifully until she jumped on this particular woman.

“I
am going to report you!’ she said.

The
cop backed up a little further and gently clipped the leash onto his dog’s
collar. Mine was still jumping.

And
then I realized something.

“Eva?”
I said.

“Yes,
my name is Eva. How do you know my
name?” the woman said.

“You
used to be my housekeeper,” I said, noticing that she had changed her hair
color dramatically. Not just a few
highlights but a real change – from jet black to platinum.

“I
don’t care!” she said, her boots clicking at the heels.

“Wow!
You look great!” I said, “Do you live around here now?”

“The
issue is zee dog!” she said continuing to reprimand me.

“My
dog is very friendly, that’s all. She just wanted to say hello.”
”Look at my pants!” she said, again.

“I’m
sorry about your clothes but you’re walking in the woods one day after a rainstorm. You should have anticipated that you might
get a little dirty — even if a dog didn’t jump on you. We’re in a nature center. Animals live here and come here to play. The
leash rule is a dumb one. Unless a dog
is vicious, it should be allowed to walk around freely. Who makes up these absurd rules anyway?”

“The
town,” the cop whispered to me.

I
stood there for a minute wondering what I should say to this woman who used to
work for me and who I often discovered wearing my clothes when I came home from work. One time when I walked into my room, she was sitting at my
dressing table carefully applying my lipstick and all I could think to say was,
“Is that a huge herpes on your lip?” She assured me that it was just a mild fever blister and not really
contagious.

“Oh good.” I said, “And feel free to keep
that lipstick. It looks great on you.”

I
fired her one afternoon when I came home from a walk with my daughter and Eva
was practicing her “K” turns in my new car, in my driveway. She was hoping to get a driver’s license
some day.

As
my mind wandered, Eva turned and walked away. I watched her in the distance,
thinking her pants looked familiar.

As
soon as Eva was out of sight, the cop turned to me and said, “That’s the freak
who takes pictures of unleashed dogs and takes them to the police.”

“But
you’re the police,” I reminded him.

“Not
in this town,” he reminded me.

“Oh
right. Now what?”

“We’ll
see,” he said.
”Maybe I should just go to the town hall and turn myself in right now. I hate waiting to find out if I’m trouble.”

“Don’t
worry about it. I don’t think she got
your picture.”

But
I was worried. I was sick about
it. She was so mean to me. Why would a person walk in the woods taking
pictures on their cell phone of unleashed dogs? Why not just walk somewhere else if you don’t like dogs? I decided she’d been bitten as a child and
this was her way of dealing with it. I
convinced myself that she was plagued by nightmares and all sorts of phobias
and that if this was her way of getting through life, then who am I to judge.

I
put Mikki on the leash and the cop and I continued walking.

“Wasn’t
she so mean? What the hell is wrong
with her? This is why I don’t like people! They’re all insane. Did I say anything insulting to her? I hope I
didn’t. Did I? I was right about everything, right?” I
asked the cop.

“Don’t
think about it,” the cop said.

“I’m
not thinking about it. I’m obsessing on it.”

Just
then I could see Eva, in the distance, walking back towards us, with her phone
open. The cop and I pulled our dogs
aside by their leashes and told them to sit so Eva could pass by. Mine stood.

“When
did I work for you? It must have been a very long time ago,” she said, coming
closer, phone perched. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t care. I was very emotional.”

“Oh,
me too. I’m so sorry, too!” I said,
trying not to stare at her phone.

I
guess at that point her plan was to show whatever photo she could get to the
police and say, “Even zough zee dog is on zee leash in zis particular shot,
look at my pants!”

I
didn’t have a chance to answer her.

“I
mean, it must have been ten years ago,” she continued. “I’ve since gotten
married and bought a house. A very nice
house in Closter. And I’ve been to
Sedona.”

“What?”

“Sedona. I mediate.  I’ve been very into mediation. Actually I’m a lifetime member of CGI.”

”Oh, I know that place! It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I said, kissing her ass.

For
those of you who don’t live around here, CGI is a Korean owned spa and yoga
center. Only idiots, like myself, become members. The place is a total scam. I’ve long stopped going and got most of my money back. I didn’t dare mention any of this to my new
friend Eva.

“It’s
very expensive to be a member,” Eva continued.

“Oh,
I can imagine. Well, you must be very
happy here now that you’re married with a house and your trip to Sedona and
what not. I’m so happy for you!”

Would you like me to carry
your cell phone for you? Or perhaps I could have your pants dry-cleaned as well
as all of your clothing?

“I
live a very nice life. I’m no longer
doing housekeeping. I forgot I even had zat job.”

Oh that’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.

“Great!”

“As
a matter of fact, I work at Saks.”
”Wonderful. That’s a very nice
store. I love Saks.”

And
you. I love you. Please don’t tell on me.

“Why
don’t you come by some time and visit me? I work at zee La Mer counter. I’ll give you some samples.”

“Oh,
definitely. I’ll come today!”

And for the rest of my life — if that will
make you happy.

We
hugged and parted ways. The cop had
been quiet as a mouse the whole time.

“Nice
come back,” he said when she was clear out of sight.

“So
what do you think will happen now?” I asked him.

‘I
think you’ll probably get a summons in a few days.”

I heard from my old pal
Jennifer O’Connell today. She was
eating a chocolate chip cookie and thought of me. How odd. When she asked
me what I was doing, I said, “Oh, just editing some stuff,” but I think she
might have suspected something. It got really quiet all of a sudden on my end
as soon as I found the remote. Jennifer
writes 30 books at a time so I tried not to let on how much I’m not writing
these days. I’m not one to do two
things at once and Jesse’s Bar Mitzvah has been consuming me pretty much from
the minute I wake up until I go to bed. All the planning is done. Now I just sit around and daydream about
it. This takes the whole day and a good
part of the evening.

I imagine him up there, speaking Hebrew and trying not to laugh
with his friends in the front row. And then my mind always cuts to the party
–where I envision myself in the coat closet all night. I was hoping to be a part of the festivities
but Jesse made it clear that he would like me to hide for most of the evening.

“Where do you want me to
go?” I asked.

“You don’t have to
leave. Just don’t dance or anything.”

I really like dancing, but I
like Jesse more, and I get why he would prefer if I wait in the car. It’s because even though, technically, he
will be a man on September 16, he’s a thirteen-year-old man. What thirteen-year-old man wants to see his fully-grown
mom partying? I certainly can’t think of any.

I’ve been to Bar Mitzvahs that were mistakenly designed to impress
adults with very little attention paid to what a thirteen year old boy wants on
his big day. I’ve heard the kids come home from these events complaining about
the adults’ long, boring speeches or that there was no room for the kids on the
dance floor or that all the adults were drunk out of their minds and making
fools of themselves. And so, instead of being insulted or thinking my son
doesn’t love me, I’ve decided to let him have his space and his own celebration
with his friends, not mine. These
parties are supposed to be for children.

That’s why I will have my
own party –in the bathroom. Any of the
few relatives who I did invite are welcome to join me in there. I’ll be in the stall with the loud music and
the bottles of tequila all over the floor, dancing, reading my speech.

Remember that "EVERYTHING I NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT BEING A GIRL I LEARNED FROM JUDY BLUME"   anthology I told you about?  I just found out some of us are going to be doing a signing at Edgartown Books in  Martha’s Vineyard Memorial Day of 2007.  Seems a little premature to mark that down on your calendars, but hey, time flies and since I don’t have a "news & events" page (I didn’t want one in case there was no news), I’ll be updating you periodically on my blog.  So there you have it.  The book will be out around the same time as "miss understanding," (October/Novemberish) I"m pretty sure.  I should double check these things before I post them, but I’m almost positive, and just so you know, the Judy Blume book is being published by Pocket Books.   But here’s the big news, Judy Blume has  a house on Martha’s Vineyard, so hopefully she’ll pop in.  I know I would pop in if someone wrote a whole book about me.

More news:  I’m number one in trade paperback sales at Hudson News last week for "She’s Got Issues" and number nine overall.  How wierd is that?  I almost forgot about that book. 

I think that’s it for now.

Girl Without Eyebrows

 Now be
careful here because my favorite girl in the world is missing her eyebrows and
you don’t want to mess with me. The
only reason I mention her is because the no eyebrow controversy has been around
since the days of cigarette holders and I feel it’s my duty to publicly defend
girls without eyebrows once and for all. 

 First of
all, not having eyebrows, although frightening-looking, isn’t as bizarre as it
seems. It could happen to anyone. Everyone gets a little carried away with the tweezer now and then. The
only difference between the girl with no eyebrows and the rest of us is that
she went all the way in her quest for perfection. You know how it is when you’re sitting there trying to reshape
your arch and you’re thinking, “If I just take out one more, I’ll have created
the world’s first perfect brow!” So you
pluck that one tiny, extra hair and now you have a little bald patch.

 “One
hair,” you’re thinking. “One freakin’
hair and now my life is ruined.” 

 But that’s
what we pluckers fail to realize, one eyebrow hair covers a lot more ground
than that for which we give it credit. They’re much longer than they look when they’re still attached to our
heads, and if one of them gets bent, it messes up everything. The girl with no eyebrows just couldn’t take
it anymore. She somehow convinced
herself that the best way to solve things would be to start over with a clean
slate. This doesn’t make her a bad person. Impulsive, perhaps, but not bad. If you’re a girl with no eyebrows, listen to me. It’s not your fault. 

 The truth
is there’s more than one person in my life who doesn’t have eyebrows, and they
are, I admit, both related to me. They will remain nameless, but I will say
this: One of them was senile and she had no idea what she was doing. However, after she’d committed the
unthinkable, she did have the wherewithal to notice the difference between her
and everyone else and so she took to drawing a thin, clown like tee-pee over
each eye in lieu of eyebrows.

 The other
person in my life who went the extra mile was born with one eyebrow about a
half inch higher than the other. 

Again, not her fault. 

Raise one eyebrow. It makes you look suspicious, right? Well, that’s how she felt all the time so she just went ahead and
tweezed off the offending brow. This is
a true story by the way. 

It immediately became apparent that she had created
a problem and there went the other brow. The thing is once you tweeze off your eyebrows completely, they never
really grow back. It’s almost as if they know what you did. You get a few
strays here and there, but you never get the full sweep.

 As if
this isn’t bad enough, this poor girl now has to create life-like brows on her
forehead every day for the rest of her life, with a pencil. You try to draw
hair on your face and then tell me this isn’t a real problem.

 And then,
after she spends hours trying to draw herself eyebrows, she has to ask everyone
in her family if they are on straight. She asks anyone who walks by. One by one they all lie. If anyone is stupid
enough to say that they are not perfect, she’ll rub them both off and start all
over. She has been late everyday of her
life for everything for decades because of this. If she does show up on time
for something, it’s usually because she forgot to put them on.

 My point
being, as always, there’s a reason for everything. And who among us can honestly say we’ve never ventured into
dangerous territory when it comes to removing hair we might very well want back
some day. I rest my case.

Did anyone happen to see the guest on the Tyra Banks show the other day who was crying because she didn’t have any eyebrows?  I was just flipping through the channels, I swear.  IT could have happened to anyone.  That show is always on!

More importantly, are they kidding?  How is that a show? THe girl was saying how all her life she felt ugly because she didn’t have any eyebrows and how she didn’t want to live.  Meanwhile, she was like the prettiest thing ever.  The whole time I was watching it, I was thinking, this has got to be the most pitiful situation I’ve ever been in in my life.  Here I am, sitting here, watching this girl cry about the fact that she doesn’t have two little thin lines of hair on her face, and then I remembered that I once wrote an entire essay about a girl who didn’t have any eyebrows.  I’m going to dig it out tomorrow to see if it was funny or not.  If it’s funny, I’ll post it.  If not, I’ll just pretend none of this ever happened.

August
21, 2006

Well
I got my first bad review. The reviewer clearly didn’t take a liking to Zoe, in
fact, he/she pretty much raked her over the coals and called her a pain in the
ass and not a funny one either. I also
got the feeling that he was irritated by the whole feminism thing, which he
referred to as Dworkin-esque. I googled Dworkin-esque and apparently Andrea
Dworkin was a pain in the ass as well. But the important thing is that he didn’t call me fat. And I think we can all agree that that’s the
bigger issue here.

August
16, 2006

I
went to Bed, Bath and Beyond today to buy Jesse a shower curtain. By the time I was ready to leave the store,
I had accumulated so much stuff I required a personal escort. 

I
found the shower curtains almost immediately but then I got distracted by the
bath mats. They were much nicer than what I was expecting, so I got two for Jesse’s bathroom. They look like sisal except they’re soft and they have a black suede
trim. That’s why I needed two. It was the trim. While I was admiring them in my cart, I got to thinking how nice
black towels would look with Jesse’s terra cotta tiles, so I headed over to the
towel area and got everyone in the family new towels. White for Kim, cream for Dan and I, and black for Jesse. Then I remembered that Jesse also needs new
sheets so I got him a couple of sets, which reminded me that Kim needs a new
mattress pad. The mattress pads were
tufted, which is what you want to see in a mattress pad, so I got a few. It was
at that point that I realized Jesse needed a shower rod for his new shower
curtain. Just as I was tossing the rod
into the cart, there in the distance I spotted my friend Lynn. I called her name and she waved and so we hung out in the pillow aisle for a few minutes talking,
but the whole time she was telling me about the burglar who fell off her
neighbor’s roof when she pulled into the driveway, I was eyeing the camel suede throw
pillows right behind her head. I love
Lynn and I’m terrified of burglars, but you can never have enough camel suede
pillows.

I
don’t know if you know this, but the pillows are right next to the kitchen
aisle. I thought about picking up all new kitchen appliances in pink (for
charity) but then I thought better of it. I can’t ask my husband or my son to toast their bread in a pink toaster
no matter how badly I want that pink mixer. And there’s no sense in having the toaster without the mixer. Even if all the money actually does go to
breast cancer research, it’s still wrong and I’m not the type to just buy
things because they’re pink. Unless
they’re towels or something.

So
I got the pink spatula and a non-stick frying pan.

 I couldn’t see over my cart at this point, so
I had to walk in front of it and pull it. People were smiling at me as if to say, “Oh my, didn’t we get carried
away!”

 I don’t smile back at people as a rule. I
respond verbally. 

 “I know! How ridiculous is this!” I said to
all the shopping smilers. I said these words while rolling my eyes, as if to  insinuate that I was pushing the cart for someone else.  Some idiot I hardly knew.  I could  be a floor manager, just doing my job, helping out a customer, for all they  knew.

By
the time I got on the checkout line, I was wheeling two carts. I noticed one of
the actual floor managers putting out doormats, which I need, so I got two, one for
the front door and one for the back. THe mats were stiff and unmanageable so I couldn’t stuff them into the sides of the carts without them flipping back over, so I had to carry one under each arm. A
few minutes later, Lynne walked by again carrying a small mop.

“What
the hell are you doing, Steph?” she asked, looking at my carts.

“Didn’t
I tell you? We just moved.”

“I
was at your house less than a week ago. I know you didn’t move.”

“Well,
we might,” I said.

The
nice gentleman who helped me to the car was kind enough to tell me that he
thought I made some really practical purchases. I thanked him and confided in him that a lot of people in the store were
laughing at me for having two carts. 

He
assured me that it happens all the time and that it’s nothing to be ashamed
of. 

That’s why I feel so much better about the fact that I
have to go back tomorrow. To get the
shower curtain.

August
2, 2006

I
know. 

Surprise! 

I’m
still working on this one though. I
need more pictures, right? I was
thinking maybe you could send me some and I’ll post them. But they have to be funny. Otherwise, why bother.

In
the meantime, I’m still looking around my office for stuff. I do have this one picture of me in a
wetsuit that’s sort of amusing. I’m standing next to my best friend, who
happens to be 5’11.” Actually it’s not
that funny.

 So the Super Saturday designer preview
shopping event in Water Mill didn’t go so well. It took us about four hours to get there,it was at least 120
degrees, my books weren’t there, and I had to go to the bathroom the entire
time. Other than that everything was
fine, except

I
happen to have worn pants and a long sleeve top that day. Granted both the top and the pants were
summery by any standards, but two poor choices nonetheless. After discovering that my books weren’t
there and that it was too hot to shop at the event, we got right back in the
car. I felt like I’d been caught in a rainstorm. That’s how much water had collected inside my clothes.

It
seems the only thing I blog about anymore is perspiration. I wish I had something else to tell you, but
lately it’s just been the sweating.

If
anything else happens, I’ll let you know.

I think it’s best if I don’t go to any more meetings. As you know, at the last one, all I did was cry. But yesterday’s meeting was even more humiliating. I didn’t cry at that one, but I did sweat. Like a man. And then I went on to call attention to it so everyone sitting there would be assured that I realize how disgusting I am.

The purpose for the meeting was to discuss my launch party for Miss Understanding, which will be at Bergdorf Goodman on October 24 and I’d be delighted if you were there. In fact, I’ll be sending you all e-vites, unless I have your address, in which case, you’ll get a real invitation. Somewhere on this website is a form for you to fill out but you can just email me.

The party will be a good one. I promise, and hopefully, if Louise Galvin, the celebrity hair colorist to whom I devoted an entire chapter of my book isn’t too pregnant, she’ll be my guest of honor. You have to see her. I won’t say anything else except movie star material.

So Louise was at the meeting, and my new HarperCollins publicist (adorable), and Louise’s team of publicists (beyond charming and gorgeous and dressed to perfection) and me. . .with the sweat rings. I don’t want to talk about it but let’s just say, I’m glad no one saw the magic marker that I noticed on the back of my pants when I got home.

Why do I go anywhere?

You’d think I would have learned my lesson from Chloe, but no. I wore white pants and a white shirt and then just sat there soaking myself.

Anyhoo, here’s what’s happening so far for the new book. Mark your calendars and I’ll have more information soon:

July 26
Hudson News Charity Event
Ovarian Cancer Research Fund
Nova’s Arc Project
Kelly Ripa is going to be there and a bunch of fashion people
Click here to view the event website.
Water Mill, NY

October 6
La Femme Film Festival
Beverly Hills, CA

November 2, 2006
Boston University
Boston, MA

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