"I know a lot of people with no legs."
I said this to a perfect stranger at Starbucks the other day. I honestly don't know why. In my head, as I said it, I was thinking Really, Vic? A lot of legless people?? Do tell.
I don't even remember what the context was, or if the man was throwing around wild facts of his own, and I felt I had to keep up. He wasn't even handsome, so I had no reason to impress him, and even if I did, claiming to know legions of amputees just says "chemical imbalance" not "woman of the world".
For the record, I do know some people without legs, but not a lot, and maybe it doesn't count, because I think I've only known one person with no legs at all. The others were at least still partially legged. To clarify, the score is :
Individuals I Have Known With No Legs At All= 1
Individuals I Have Known With One Leg, or Portions of Leg Remaining= 2 to 3
So, possibly four acquaintances with leg issues. Is that a lot? It's hard to say what the qualifications are, I guess, but the point is that my social skills have apparently still not grown in.
At the video store, after a death match battle with another customer for the last copy of "Whip It" (roller derby!) I left the store in triumph, strode with purpose to the car, and got in the passenger seat. Then I buckled in securely, because I'm all about safety first.
So then I was sitting there thinking about Drew Barrymore and waiting for everyone else to get in the car, when I realized that the car smelled a little....off.
I glanced casually in the back seat and saw a battered blue car seat, covered in what looked like a year's worth of gummed Cheerios.
Even though my youngest child is eleven, the reality of my situation was slow to sink in. And then, suddenly, there it was.
I was sitting in someone else's car.
And any minute that someone was going to come tearing out of the store and wrestle me and my hard-won copy of "Whip It" to the ground.
I quick unbuckled and climbed out, closing the car door as softly as possible, and tried to look like I had only been loitering curbside, not breaking in to parked cars.
I would have gotten away undetected, only my son was standing outside the car, (which I saw now was not even the same kind of car) shaking his head in disbelief. As we walked to our real car, parked clear across the parking lot, he whispered, "Mom, the door handles weren't even the same! That's so sad."
I blame Facebook for this one. It's Doppelganger Week, or was, or will be sometime soon, I'm not sure, and you're supposed to change your profile picture to the picture of your famous-person-lookalike. And even though I wasn't going to change my profile picture, probably, I got curious to see what famous person others would think was my doppelganger.
I had absolutely no clue, but back in college people used to say I looked a little like Elisabeth Shue, so I found a picture of her, and then, (here's the stupid part), called my husband over to look at it. His job, obviously, was to marvel at the likeness and then back away slowly, but I forget he doesn't know this.
"Do you think she looks like me?"Then he ran from the room, but I googled Mr. Orzabel anyway, and found this:
Squint. Throat-clear. Twisty, thoughtful mouth squinch. "Well...she's smiling."
"Yeah, I know she's smiling. Does she look like me?"
"Well.....your... hair is the same.... length!" He looks up hopefully at me.
"Our hair is the same length? That's the best you can do?"
"Well, I don't know! Who is that person anyway?"
"Elisabeth Shue! I'm trying to find a picture of someone who could be my doppelganger. It's a Facebook thing."
"Oh! I've always thought you look like Roland Orzabal." He looks pleased. Problem solved.
"Roland Orzabal? The guy from Tears for Fears?!?"
He sees my horrified face, and starts to backpedal. "Well, maybe like his sister. That's what I meant." Beads of sweat have appeared on his forehead.
"This is about that bi-level I had in 1986, isn't it?"
"No, of course not! And it was a mullet".
"Bi-level. 1986 was a tough fashion year! I'm going to look him up and prove to you I don't look like Roland Orzabal."
I've never felt more beautiful. In case you want to see the picture bigger, you can go directly to the site I got it from. Just google the blog title, which is "The Ugliest Men in the History of Rock and Roll".
I'm not even going to bring up the time a coworker thought my husband looked like Dwight Schrute. Don't even think I will.
I still didn't know who I looked like, so I did a bunch of those on-line picture analysis things to figure it out. This is who the internet thinks I look most like, according to three different, highly scientific tests. I'm equal parts flattered and freaked out.
So, either Roland Orzabal or Sharon Tate.
Also the internet suggests a resemblance to Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela. I hear he's pretty handsome, and mullet-free, last I heard. It's a step up.