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April 25, 2005

But I Just GOT Here!

From Beth, in her very last guest blog entry...sniff...

I used to fly A LOT. This was because, once upon a time, I lived near New York City and my fiancé lived in Los Angeles and we squeezed in weekends of whirlwind romance whenever we could. As you can imagine, I racked up an obscene number of frequent flyer miles. The Continental Airlines check-in people at Newark and LAX knew me by name. "Hi, Beth," they’d say, heaving my suitcase onto the conveyer belt, "how’s the wedding planning coming along?"

Due to my elite flyer status, I started getting bumped up to first class on almost every trip, which, on a 5-hour flight, really makes a difference. The big, cushy seats, the warm cookies, the free wine…it gets to the point where the pilot announces that, "due to weather conditions, we’ve been asked to circle for an extra 45 minutes" and instead of swearing or crying or tying your own hands to the armrests so you won’t strangle the adolescent playing the incessantly beeping hand-held video game two rows behind you, you just laugh merrily and hold out your glass for another refill of Chardonnay.

But now my husband and I live in the same state (the same house, in fact) so I don’t travel nearly as much as I used to. Which means that the days of wine and roses and first-class upgrades are over. I just came back from a series of book signings in Los Angeles and I have officially fallen from grace: I’m back in coach now. Waaaay back by the lavatories and the flight attendant galley. On the way to California, I sat next to a chatty woman who treated me to a long, detailed explanation of how to do laundry (here’s a shocking, well-kept secret, my friends: it turns out you have to SEPARATE the darks from the whites. Oh, yes) and on the way back I was wedged in next to a burly guy with shoulders that would put the Chicago Bears defensemen to shame. I felt sorry for him, crammed into a middle seat designed for an anorexic Keebler elf, but sorrier still for myself, gazing up the aisle toward the blue curtain that barred me from the luxe I’d once taken for granted. It was so poignant and John Milton, I nearly shed a tear.

Once I got to L.A., I got serious and started prepping for my signings and interviews. I did this by taking off my socks, examining my scrotty, 3-week old pedicure, and reeling with horror at my own slovenliness. Why the hell had I thought writing those extra 5 pages the night before was more important than getting a fresh coat of polish? Who was going to take me seriously with these tacky toenails? Everyone was going to be snickering behind my back. Hollywood is a very pedicure-conscious town! No wonder they tossed me out of first class!

Of all the MANY personal flaws that might humiliate me at a signing or disgrace me during an interview, I don’t know why I picked toenails to obsess about. (Really, who knows why writers do ANYTHING? We all have bizarre, longstanding issues…that’s why we’re writers.) But I convinced myself that I could not possibly leave the room until the toenail issue had been resolved. And as long as I was going to be slovenly, I might as well go all the way…so I threw another coat of nail polish OVER the existing, chipped pedicure job. Classy, eh? That’ll show ‘em who’s slovenly!

And on that note, this will be my last literary chick entry. They assure me it’s not because of my personal grooming habits, but I think we all know the truth. I’ll miss you! Please stop by and visit me at my website (www.bethkendrick.com) when you get a chance.

Oh! And I have to give away the literary swag on my way out! If you are…

Shirley Wilson from Belle Haven, VA
Pat Lieberman from Bohemia, NY
Cheryl Strange from Conneaut, OH
Debbie Friedland from Plantation, FL
BJ Deese from West Point, GA
Teresa Hanson from Mitchell, SD
Amy Knupp from Lawrence, KS
Jennifer Jacula from Alberta, Canada

…this is your lucky day. A fresh new copy of one of my books is yours; check your email. And say a little prayer for my next pedicurist.

Posted by at 1:48 AM