Thursday, January 20, 2011

Come and knock on my door.

Suzanne Somers. Chrissy? Are you in there? I hear your "Sexy Forever" book tour message, and it seems like a reasonable and passionate hypothesis as we saddlebag into middle age: Tote fewer toxins, balanced hormones and all that. So why the ridiculous blowfish lips and Polyfilla face?

What gives Mrs. Hamel?

I confess to keeping the television on during the day. The noise is a link to the outside world, and unless I change the channel, the world is usually TSN Sports Center over and over until the Little Bastard comes home. Yesterday though, was a Suzanne Somers talk show marathon, and last week, on Oprah's channel, I caught a glimpse of Jane Fonda.

It's 1978, minus the leg warmers.

Unlike Suzanne Somers, the 74-year old Fonda appears to be aging rather gracefully. The happy grandmother could still crack open a beer with her ass, but missing are the fucked-up lips and wind tunnel visage, so popular with well-heeled women approaching that, "Oh my Jesus, I look like shit" stage of their lives.

The stage I'm at right now.

Suzanne rattled off symptoms of being hormonally imbalanced and overloaded with toxins: bloating, aching joints, dry everything, feeling like you need a box of chocolates and a nap midday. I sat there, nodding like a Parkinson's victim as she rhymed them off. The one symptom that cracked me up, was the thyroid-related absence of hair on the outside of your eyebrows. In Suzanne's case, it's because that part of her face is now tucked behind her ear. I rushed to the bathroom and checked out my brows, noting it had been a while since I'd had them shaped into something resembling two – so I figure my thyroid's okay.

Are there toxins in Cheesies?

I don't think Jack Tripper's old roommate taught me anything I didn't already know. Eat more organic whole foods, (spend a fortune on bad plastic surgery) cut out the booze, and exercise regularly – and you too can be 60+ something and wearing a leather dress. Suzanne never once mentioned inner beauty or happiness, perhaps because the poor bitch couldn't form a smile if she tried. And she is waving the controversial hormone replacement flag, loud and proud. While her messages seem a bit mixed, almost Chrissy-like, one simple point she did stress, was that most women get fewer than 5 hours of sleep per night. Our sagging souls require at least 8 for the wine to wear off, or for the insulin and hormones to do whatever it is they're supposed to do. I need closer to 10 hours, which is why my two tickets to Neptune Theatre are still sitting on my desk.

Blithe Spirit is a bubbly blonde. A beloved Noël Coward romp that makes one crave a gin and tonic. I was actually excited about stepping out for a little culture – that is, until 5 o'clock rolled around and I began hallucinating about slipping out of my leather dress, and in to my bathtub. The play was first produced in 1941, making it just slightly older than Suzanne Somers, and equally as timeless. It's basically a British Three's Company with comical ghosts. The only thing missing is the knock on the door – enter Mrs. Roper in her muumuu, looking for peri-menopausal love.

I Googled Chrissy and Jack's roommate "Janet" to see how Father Time had treated the perky brunette. Joyce DeWitt last made headlines in 2009, when she was arrested for drunk driving on a Saturday afternoon in sunny California. At 60, Joyce looked a little rough in her police mug shot, but then again, she appeared to have an expression, and lips capable of slurping from a martini glass, which is more than we can say for the Mistress of Thigh.

Joyce also had eyebrows. Full, and arched slightly – the way one does when pretending to be sober, and 22.

Blithe Spirit is running until February 13th at Neptune Theatre in downtown Halifax. Click here for tickets.