It's Good Friday. You wake up, put yourself together and head off to work thinking you look alright. You like the jeans you're wearing and...you didn't wash your hair today, but you're only going to your office where two other women (and one male you aren't the least bit attracted to) work, and it's basically a warehouse anyway, so who cares and besides...you look alright.
You decide to make a pit stop. Today, you'll treat yourself to your favorite coffee because it's Good Friday, and it's sunny in California even on Good Friday, and well...you deserve it. Walking into Starbucks, you're thinking of the smooth, warm beverage that will start your Easter weekend off on the right foot. You're thinking you better hurry or you'll be late for work. You're just thinking your benign little thoughts and then...you see it. Not it, so much, as her. The bunny. No, not the illusive Easter Bunny...or his furry wife. THE Bunny. Hef's Bunny. Holly Madison. Are you freakin' kidding me? I should have washed my hair today.
Your self image cracks like the shells of the eggs you have yet to dye. Holy cottontails Batman, the girl is beautiful. And, disappointingly, not in that gossipy "she only looks so good because she's plastic and fake and is caked with gobs of make-up and has a hair stylist blah, blah, blah, kind of way". No, she's standing there, ordering a latte, in her faded jeans and a sweatshirt (okay, a really cute,fitted, zip-up, bright green, Juicy Couture sweatshirt, but still a sweatshirt) and her little Chuck Taylor sneakers and she's truly beautiful. You sigh...and then mentally throw up your decaf, non-fat, one pump mocha right there on the caffeine soaked floor.
She's tiny. About 5'4" you estimate. And about a size 2. Her hair is not "done" and she doesn't have on a lot of make-up...not even lip gloss...and she's stunning. Immediately, your mind is racing with thoughts of dying your hair platinum blonde, followed by thoughts of wonderment about how your hair is dry from a few highlights so how come she practically washes her hair in Clorox and yet it's glossy and bouncy? You think better of dying your hair, and move on to wondering about her skin. Yeah, she's 28, and she's rich (being "kept" by a wealthy old Playboy qualifies as rich) and she probably has a great dermatologist and an on-staff skin specialist and gets 3 facials a week, but you have never seen skin that smooth before...except on a babies behind. It's like she was air bushed just before leaving the Mansion. You hate her.
Except, you can't. Because, horror of all horrors, she's nice. And friendly. And, actually seems pretty down to earth. She's chatting with different people who walk in. People she seems to know. Regular, everyday people she has probably seen at that Starbucks before. Her demeanor is not that of pretension or fame, but of the sweet "girl next door". Only, the regular kind of "girl next door"- not the kind who live in notorious, lavish mansions with two other curvy platinum- blonde friends, a slew of servants and the oldest bachelor in town. She does, however, clearly know she's gorgeous. It's in the way she stands, the way she acts. She knows she's the best looking thing in that Starbucks. In any Starbucks. In any anything. And, she's right. Gorgeous and likable. Gag me. I should have washed my hair today...in Clorox.
But, that's LA. It's what you sign up for. Everything...is just different here. It's always sunny, even on Good Friday. There are famous faces everywhere. And, it's never Easter until the Playboy Bunny drops in for a latte.
