I was talking with one of my cute sisters yesterday and said something that spawned a little bit of a story…so, here goes…!
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with Jude Law,” I heard myself say to a friend the other day–one of those friends that I can go years without speaking to, suddenly call her one day and giggle again like we did across the plastic umbrella-covered table at the local Tastee Freeze while spying on guys we liked as teenagers.
Carmen burst out laughing. I think she spit a little into the phone, maybe? “What?’ I heard her yell into my ear.
“Well, it just kinda happened.” She laughed a little into the speaker which traveled across cell signals through several states–too many to mention and way more than I would like to admit–and filled my soul. I missed her laugh, the times we shared. This phone call was long overdue…like the baby that was hanging out in my belly. Seriously overdue. Like eight days. Having something grow inside you can be wonderful and fabulous and amazing and miraculous…but sometimes–and more often than not–I find it uncomfortable, inconvenient–not to mention heavy. But I didn’t have this child because I was looking for convenience. I’m not delusional. Okay, not yet. At least I think I’m not. But those are all other stories. Back to Carmen.
“What just kinda happened?” I don’t know what she was really thinking happened…not like I have any connection to Jude Law or anything…at least not any more connection to him than anyone else in this small town in the middle of America. Okay, maybe a little connection. My grandfather did immigrate here from England. There–I have a connection to Jude Law. England is our connection.
I continued, “Well, you know Cliff was on a business trip last weekend?”
“And, the girls and I were looking for something to do.” By girls I should define…they are my girls…but they are both minors, and therefore, as a seemingly responsible, non-delusional mother, I wouldn’t put them in any type of compromising situation, right? “So, we picked up a chick flick from the library…some Christmas-type movie. What was it called again? Oh, yeah. The Holiday. And Jude Law was kissing Cameron Diaz and all of the sudden I thought, ‘that’s the way Cliff kisses me,’ and then I’m looking at him with her and I’m practically drooling over Jude’s solid jaw,”–like Cliff’s–“and his longing eyes”–also like Cliff’s–“and I fell in love.”
More laughter on the other end of the line.
“To make it all worse, he was a widower–with two little girls that were cute”–like mine–“and British“–not like mine. “I was like sobbing by the end…and hopelessly in love.”
“You know you’re hormonal, right?” Carmen’s voice of reason came through the magical world of cell service. This time we both laughed together.
“I even looked him up on IMDb,” I found myself confessing. “He wasn’t nearly this attractive in the Sherlock Holmes movies, was he?”
“I don’t know,” Carmen was almost gasping for air through her laughter. “But you are funny. And I know what I’m sending you for Christmas.”
“No, don’t,” I quickly responded. “I don’t want Cliff to find out.”
“Find out what?”
And my glorious cell phone droped the call. “Find out I’m in love with Jude Law,” I say into the empty space as I start to replay the conversation in my head.
Maybe I am a bit delusional after all.