Lunch with a friend a couple of weeks ago, reminiscing about old times in the workplace, brought me to reminiscing about old times with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. A tenuous connection you say? Hardly. My friend made the comparison between me and Julia. Not so much for my ability to look awesome at the polo, my luscious red locks, or my ability to snare Richard Gere… Sorry EDWARD. I keep forgetting they weren’t real. It’s probably a good thing as he’d also have been drawing attention to my prostitution-like tendencies and I’d have been forced to stand up all haughty-like and say ‘Big mistake. HUGE.’ before flouncing out, and I really was enjoying my food.
There we were, slurping the most MIRACULOUS chilly-soupy-delicious dumplings from Din Tai Fung from Cafe Court at Star Casino (the home of other such delights as Momofuku, baby Flying Fish, Adriano Zumbo… getting distracted? So was I), when one of those soupy morsels decided, without prior warning, to disgorge itself into my lap. He said it was very Pretty Woman, bringing to mind the scene where she flung her snails across the dining room while trying to ‘do manners’. But you know what else? I was channelling Vivian that day, and I won. I was wearing short white shorts, and soup wipes very quickly and easily off legs. Off white pants? Not so much. So – do as Vivian would do – wear legs, not pants. They’re easier to keep clean.
In my thinking room this morning, while I washed my hair, I got to thinking that Vivian could actually be a very helpful muse in many a situation where a creative approach is needed for a potential awkward situation. So I now say to myself – ‘WHAT WOULD JULIA (WHO IS REALLY VIVIAN SINCE NOT REAL AND STUFF) DO’? And, to make this quicker to say when I’m choosing which coloured undies, I say ‘What would Vivulia do?’
For example, say you’re invited to a social gathering at a house where you know only the host. As we all know, the host will be unable to even smile at you, so run off their feet will they be preparing hors d’ouevres and shouting at their husband to stop chatting and make sure people have drinks. So this is a potentially terrifying situation (if you’re me). What would Vivulia do? She would go to the bottle shop (since it’s a BYO gathering), and find a bottle WITH A CORK. I know. Talking point already, right? Then, when she gets to the party, she needs to seek help finding a corkscrew to open said bottle of wine. She can share said wine as thanks for assistance, and has the ‘THIS WINE HAS A CORK I DON’T BELIEVE IT’ fascinating topic of conversation as a starter. Vivulia is a genius. I like her.
Going back for a minute to the topic of ‘hors d’ouevres’ and ‘memes’ (yes, they’re connected. Shut up) Vivulia has a solution also to these pesky words that we’ve read often but heard said spoken aloud very seldom. I’ll tell you a story. When I was a wee bairn of 11ish, I had read ALL the books. I had read about hors d’ouevres approximately fifty-ten million times. However, nobody had ever said it aloud. The time I ventured to try, with my ‘horrrrs devoooors’ I elicited such tears of laughter I vowed I wouldn’t take such risks again before thinking it through carefully. The word ‘meme’, people. Am I the only imbecile who feels strangely about this word? I think it’s pronounced ‘meeeem’ like ‘queen’, but no way in hell am I risking it with my mouth. It could also be ‘me-me’ like a very self-centred person, or someone doing vocal warmups, but could equally be all Frenchy and ‘meme’, like ‘phlegm’. What would Vivulia do? She would know exactly what she was talking about, but would accidentally (on purpose) just forget that name for the ‘thing’ she was talking about, forcing somebody ELSE to come out and say the word for her. Cowardly? Perhaps. But smart. Vivs has streetsmarts.
Vivulia also wants to know if you’re too tired for sex, dear readers? She knows what to do. She bamboozled Edward with ALL the condom colours of the rainbow. Pink, purple, leapard print, astroturf (I may have made that up. I may be on to something there though.) until he was struck dumb. Do a Viv, kids, but offer your million and one varieties all in an XXL. Sweet dreams, ladies. But don’t thank me, thank Vivulia.
You know what? This might all sound a little bit trite, and a little bit anti-feminist. But don’t forget, at the end of the movie? She rescues him right back. Vivulia, FTW!