Wednesday, December 15, 2004

The Peril of Being Irish

The book that was promised to arrive before 10 this morning didn't show until after I finished taping. The interview went pretty well, I suppose. I called the author beforehand to give him the deal and asked him to talk freely because I didn't have an informed list of questions.

He's a lecturer, so he had no problem with that. Thank God.

Afterwards, V picked me up. We went to the Huntington Street Cafe for lunch with her 5-year-old son, L, who is well-behaved and easygoing. He doesn't interrupt you every 10 seconds, so you can actually have a lucid conversation and taste your food.

I had some amazing Marrakesh green tea with my turkey-brie wrap, which fires me up from the inside out. It's better than coffee. V drank a cold Diet Coke, which would make my veins shiver on a day like this. I think the temperature is still in the 20s.

Ah, December in the Northeast.

While we ate, two men in suits sat behind us discussing what turns them off about women.

"I've never been attracted to an Irish girl in my entire life," said one. "I don't like Irish girls. They all look so, I don't know, Irish. I don't like that."

"I wonder why," said the other guy.

"Maybe because I'm Irish," he said. "I don't like them. They're not attractive."

Then the Irish guy went on to discuss some of the other things he doesn't like, which include hairy legs and that sort of thing.

Since I'm a girl who happens to be Irish (but shaves her legs), I was slightly offended by the conversation. I mean, not only am I Irish, I pretty much scream it. I longed to turn around and get a look at this idiot. The way he was talking, you'd think he was Pierce Brosnan.

He stood up.

"Back to work," he announced to every single person in the place. He walked toward the door, and I slowly swiveled my head around to check him out.

You should have seen the nose on him. He looked like a vacuum cleaner.

After lunch, I bought myself two bottles of wine, which I will consume (well, not both of them!) during The West Wing tonight. I will also start reading Trust Your Vibes by the amazing Sonia Choquette, who I will interview next Wednesday.

Today's interviewee, by the way, was Arnold Bull, an 86-year-old aerobics instructor who turned his life around at the age of 62. Why would a romance-oriented host want to talk to him? Because too many young people are getting old too fast.

They talk themselves into old age.

My friend, T, turned 30 and started groaning when she got off the couch. Women who are 38 refer to themselves as middle-aged. Have they watched Willard Scott lately? Some of those old coots he features in his Today's Birthday segment are 106 years old. They didn't start even middle age until they were 53.

Single people who want to get married think life has passed them by. It hasn't, and it won't.

Unless they let it, that is.

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