Carole Lombard was stunning. Dazzling. Bombshell? Most assuredly.
According to some, she was the highest paid actress in the late 1930’s. But the film I keep coming back to, the one I want to see again is My Man Godfrey (1936) with William Powell. I was mesmerized. I fell in love for the hour and one half that she was on the screen. It wasn’t for her platinum blonde hair. It was for her eyes and her smile, and most notably, she made me laugh.
You ask me to tell you a story about myself. My stories once frightened a child upon overhearing, and afterward, my mother did not speak to me for months.
Would you believe me if I told you that I used to be a ballerina in a troupe of fairies in East Cicero, Illinois? I didn’t think so.
Would you believe I ran off for a week with the plumber when he came to our house? I liked the look of him and he seemed keen on the idea.
When the kids came along I had to hide the little one’s natural ability to unclog the sink.
Once I joined the circus as a magician. I had ordered new doves at the last moment, but they sent me mockingbirds instead. I got fired after the first show. The Ringmaster thought they were making fun of him.
Would you believe I rode a bicycle naked through a crowd of traveling minstrels? By day’s end I had learned how to play the clarinet.
Once I owned a fruit stand on North Michigan Avenue. Every few months a Naval captain came by. He would squeeze my melons. He had the coldest hands.
I worked in a shop with a laundry in front,a psychiatrist in back and facials upstairs. Pressed or depressed cost the same.
Before that I worked for a tailor. He made mens suits to die for. He was amusing and kept me in stitches. But you saw that coming.