My living room played host to a catastrophic collision of totally separate lives. From the moment my husband's L.A. friend set foot on our toy strewn living room floor, it was clear we were not shooting from the same Nerf Holster.
Mr. Hollywood, as I'll deem him, drove up in a sporty hybrid, he wore accessories like a tweed golf hat and a leather banded bracelet. He had cool stubble, not unkempt facial hair. He did things like run his fingers through his own hair and change accents when telling a story. He quoted movies and referred to actors and actresses in context, because he could. He stays up until 3 am and sleeps in until 10. He tells stories about the VIP Rooms at "This Club We Go To".
And so I turned my critical eye upon myself, my husband and my little family unit in our responsibly dutiful world and here's what I discovered: I am officially Domesticated. I keep an almost impeccable house until my family lives in it. I can ignore my children's screaming during adult conversation (Mr. Hollywood cannot). I adhere to bedtime and fall asleep after story hour, even when I am hosting a guest. I don't know any names of famous people, nor can I conjure their face when someone else mentions them. I use words like "Skidamarink" and "Poopy". I haven't been to a movie theater since 1998. I tell stories about dance class and our last vacation to the aquarium. I run my fingers through my hair to get the crusty cheese out of it. My husband thinks accessories only apply to women. I bake for my guests in the early hours of morning and present stupid household items like homemade scones, cream pots and saucers. When did I morph into Bea Cleever? And where the hell did this apron come from?
And yet, like some unearthly comet, this meeting results in a starry evening of great conversation, an appreciation for life on the other side but more importantly, a greater appreciation for the lives we ourselves posess. And so Mr. Hollywood has gone, and so has his fast paced world of fanciful bank accounts and after hours parties. And left behind, on my crumb covered counter was a note which so perfectly explained it all: