To the Society of Failed Actresses,
I wish to formally extend my application to your fine organization.
You will see as part of my resume that for the past three years I have been a devoted trainee of the Academy of Performing Arts (APA,) in some land where acting is a welcome profession. (Not Toronto, here I am expected to actually 'earn' my own living.)
When the person whom I had 'hoped' to spend an undefined period of my life with emailed me to say he had a change of heart, I bravely acted out the scene of uncaring woman. I was so good, that many thought I seemed relieved. When I later found out about my replacement who actually took up the job three months prior to my departure, I feigned giddy happiness, which onlookers took to imply hardy approval. Needless to say the Academy was impressed and a lifetime membership was issued.
I finally am able to join your prestigious society, due to an incident, many in the field are calling, 'the closure' scene.
I mean, things started out dandy. I arrived, knowing I was going to see them. (And as the APA drummed into us, information is key. There can never be any emotions of surprise if you know what's coming next.) Only how could I have been prepared for the skinniness I was about to face? I walked in and shook dear Venus's bony, twig of a hand. Look I know thin is in, but seriously I'm a petite girl, how dear Lord could she have managed to out skinny me???? I mean the girl is practically a negative size. It was all I could do to keep myself from holding her down and forcing a large succulent piece of garlic butter steak down her throat. Let the girl eat already. Has no one told her ….pot belly's are the new black.
And ‘Selfish!’ Oh he was in fine form, looking at me with his sad little eyes, asking me cutesy questions about my life; all the while twirling his ridiculously garish wedding ring around, as if it were slightly uncomfortable.
I sat there, made small talk, commiserated about how sad it was the wedding photographer got so high that he took more shots of the guest’s feet than their head…(hehehe….so he did get my ‘contribution.’)
Until it was time to go, ….and he looked at her and said let's go. And suddenly every atom in my body started yelling, hello he is my thing and he's asking twiggy to go home??? Hello!!!
That's when I grabbed my cousin and ran home. And proceeded to cry my heart out, whilst the rickshaw guy swerved around crazily, thinking I had gone mad.
I've enclosed the $5 registration fee. When shall I expect my picture ID and pocket calculator???