There are days, and then there are those days.
Days when you wake up late and the sweater you wanted to wear grew a hole overnight, days when your left contact falls off your finger to the floor and then your Johnny-on-the-spot Yorkie finds it before you and eats it, and your beloved newly-wrecked car answers the turn of the key with "Wrrr. Wrrr. Wrrrr you seriously expecting me to start this morning? Because, wrrrrrr."
At work, my desk was piled high with tasks due yesterday, and when I got home, my boss called to tell me (in the most gracious way--truly) that I screwed up something big-time, which I'll have to completely re-do tomorrow.
And those are just the things I'm brave enough to write about.
Crestfallen, I dropped into my computer desk chair to check my email, just lookin' for a little bit of bloggin' love, you know.
And there it was.
There. It. Was.: An email that changed everything.
"What?" you say. "What was the nature of the message that totally turned your bumpkus life around in 10 seconds this afternoon, Linda?"
Well, I'll tell you what it was ... right after I milk this some more.
[Beatbox happy dance that serves as a drumroll: Un-cha, un-cha, un-cha, UNH!]
I received a message from
Clinton Kelly, the David Niven of the 21st Century, that's all.
Are you just so shocked right now? I KNOW!
So were my mom, my girlfriends, friends, co-workers, my daughters, my husband, his co-workers, the postal substation worker, the Starbucks barista, the girl behind the desk at the dance studio, the gas station boy, my dog and my mirror! Everyone was shocked! And more will be shocked tomorrow; I can promise you!
I know--you want to know what Clinton said and why he said it. I'll get to that because I have his permission. (!) But first, let me re-count (and therefore re-live) every second that I read the message:
I must've made some kind of unintelligible strangling noise because my 15 year-old daughter came over to the computer to see why I was stroking out. All I could do was point to the screen. She bent over to read the message, and in a fit of giddy disbelief, I put my feet on the side of her leg and "walked" up her body. She started laughing and bent closer, and I sunk my teeth into her arm, mainly so I wouldn't chew my tongue.
OK, so here's the message, which I'm going to print in blue, a tribute to Clinton's eyes. His message was a response to his reading this post about when I saw Clinton at Macy's in Indianapolis:
I just stumbled across your blog while searching for information on a Macy's appearance I'm doing in Seattle and had to write to you! (Excuse all the exclamation points! I'm very excited!!!)
Thank you for the best laugh I've had all week. Your play-by-play account of the fashion show I hosted in Indianapolis last September was hilarious! I mean, honestly, you've got a flair for narration that is all too rare in the blogosphere.
I CANNOT BELIEVE my uvula is on display for the entire world to see OR that your friend actually mentioned OUT LOUD that I have hair on the backs of my hands OR that you noticed someone unscrewing my water bottles for me! (I ask them to do that because they're awkward to unscrew while holding a microphone.)
I am laughing so hard as I type this, by the way.
Keep up the great work. I'm going to read more of your blog right now.
All the best,
So I replied, "Oh Clinton, P-shaw," and then I died.
Actually, I did reply, and then Clinton replied to my reply!
First of all, take a deep breath. It's just me. If it makes you feel any better, I'm wearing a ratty old hoodie and ripped cargo pants as I type.
Actually, that's a lie. I'm wearing an Armani suit and you should be very, very intimidated!
Girl, you are a comedic genius. I was laughing like the village idiot at your Dave Barry story -- and it wasn't even about ME. You have a true gift with words -- though I'm sure you work hard at it also.
I sent a link to your blog to my friend and she wrote back, "Oh, my God, I am crying right now!" She particularly liked the photos of THE BACK OF MY HEAD. Thank you. You should know that if I had visible dandruff or a booger or ear wax in any of those pictures, I would have freaked out like there's no tomorrow.
Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you have more celebrity uvula spotting to do. And I have to go make the world a more fabulous place, one structured jacket at a time.
I did not reply to this because, really, people, I can't be encouraging Clinton's crush on me.
And I'm pretty sure if Clinton was wearing a ratty hoodie that every tatter was situated just-so.
Can you believe he said, "It's just me"? (Duh! Snort! "Just me!")
And if per chance you (Clinton) should ever see this, rest assured I would never have published a picture of an errant booger. I've got your back, figuratively and digitally speaking.
Clinton is witty and fun and debonair and classic and gracious. One of the things I love most about What Not to Wear is when Clinton's genuine interest in the participant's self-esteem emerges. You can't fake real kindness, and it seems to exude from him. The clever, urbane sophisticate has a heart o' gold. (Aww.)
In sum, Clinton Kelly turned my day from crappy to happy. He does that for a lot of people on a regular basis. But today--it was my turn! Thanks for making one of those days immensely better, Clinton. It was fun, but now you've got to go on with your life without me. You have your structured jackets to peddle; I have my monthly newsletters to produce. But we'll always have this moment--you know, the one where you found me, we shared exclamation points, you flattered me, and then I set you free ... (!)