Dear Tom Selleck . . .
I know how we'll fit Kevin's cameo into our big blockbuster! It came to me as I got dressed this afternoon and 'Footloose' began to blare on the radio, triggering a Tourette's-like response of me breaking into spontaneous 1980's dancing. Did I mention I was in the middle of getting dressed? So picture this happening with me in just a thermal shirt and Steve's underwear. That's the brand, not the boy. (Although when I just googled it to link it, I realized I'm wearing St. Eve's underwear and not Steve's underwear. What the fuck Jeannie?)
I was taken back to when I first saw the movie. It was MY movie. I lived in a small farm town. I wasn't allowed to dance according to God. But I danced anyway. I wore through 3 cassette soundtrack tapes. I saved all of my babysitting money to buy red Dingo boots. And when I got those boots . . . all hell broke loose . . . for my father.
I'd stomp out of my bedroom in my daisy duke cut-offs, with the bottom of my shirt pulled up and through my collar, wearing my red Dingo boots. I'd march and parade past my poor father saying "My daddy don't like my red boots". My dad would slowly shake his head, close his eyes, and bow his head, knowing he was not going to win that battle.
Then I started bringing the boys around. One in particular - LDB. He would come to pick me up and I'd sashay out in my tight-fitting jeans, his white button-up shirt (barely buttoned), and of course my red Dingo boots. When he got that 'wow' look on his face I'd announce to him and my father "My daddy don't like my red boots". Then I would laugh and toss my awesome hair a few times, occasionally even throwing a straw cowboy hat on top of my big beautiful locks of hair. My dad and I would exchange a look. He'd then slowly shake his head, close his eyes, and bow his head, knowing he was not going to win that battle either. But he'd always give the boy a look before we walked out the door that would cock-block our evening.
I'm sure my dad thought my red boots were just a teenage phase he'd patiently ride out. And they were a phase. Until I was 23. And got my Harley Davidson boots. The attitude that came with those red Dingo boots has lasted a lifetime.
So now picture this . . . The story of my boots as a teenager has already played out and now the scene is my 21st birthday where my parents have taken me to Las Vegas to celebrate. My dad and I are always sneaking smokes, playing watch-out for one another so we don't get busted by my mom. I can't remember now where my mom went for the afternoon, but it was just going to be my dad and me. He told me he'd be at the bar in the casino, to meet him there after I got ready.
In the movie he will be sitting there talking to chubby Matt Damon (Thanks Nicole who commented on the last post.), cracking corny jokes about the men who bring their 'daughters' *wink wink* on their business trips to Vegas. And then I will make my grand entrance into the bar in my tight little denim mini-skirt, see-through shirt, and of course my red Dingo boots. Chubby Matt Damon gets a chubby and practically falls off of his bar stool while he bumbles all over himself trying to point out the 'fresh meat' in the bar.
About that time, I walk up to a guy, THIS guy:
And ask for a light. (Thanks Miss Nikki.)
My dad and I exchange a look, I slink over and throw my arms around him and say "Thank you Daddy for bringing me to Vegas!" and then look at chubby Matt Damon and say "My daddy don't like my red boots". At which point, you know the story . . . My dad shakes his head, closes his eyes, and bows his head, knowing he will not win this battle. I then rub a little salt in his wound by asking why everyone is looking at me. This is the point he says through his gritted-tooth smile, "Because Sis, everyone thinks you're a hooker. Now go change."
And I did.
true story. (now with chubby Matt Damon and Kevin Bacon)
Edie B. Kuhl